JOUR  b.STODDARp 


BED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD 


RED-LETTER    DAYS    ABROAD 


BY 


JOHN    L.    STODDAED 


Illustrations 


BOSTON 
JAMES    R.   OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY 

1884 


Copyright,  188S, 
BY  JOHN  L.  STODDARD. 


All  rights  reserved. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO   MY  FRIEND, 

HEEE     MESMEE, 

©f  33afien=13aBjtt,  ©ranang, 

BENEATH   WHOSE    HOSPITABLE    ROOF   MANY   OF   THESE    DESCRIPTIONS   HAVE 

BEEN  WRITTEN   DURING   INTERVALS   OF    REPOSE   FROM   TRAVEL, 

AND    WITH    WHOM    THUS    ARE    DELIGHTFULLY 

ASSOCIATED    MY 

RED-LETTER    DAYS    ABROAD. 


1823103 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN 1 

THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU  IN  1880 61 

THE  CITIES  OF  THE  CZAR  : 

I.    St.  Petersburg 105 

II.    Moscow  .  161 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

ILLUSTRATED  TITLE xv 

THE  CITY  OF  TOLEDO 2 

GATEWAY  OF  THE  SUN 5 

A  SPANISH  STREET 6 

A  TOLEDEAN  HOUSE 8 

INTERIOR  OF  THE  TOLEDO  CATHEDRAL 10 

THE  MELANCHOLY  TAGUS 15 

TOWER  OF  ABDURRAHMAN 17 

A  CORDOVAN  WAGON 18 

THE  MOSQUE  OF  CORDOVA 19 

THE  CITY  OF  SEVILLE 21 

THE  GIRALDA 22 

STREET  IN  SEVILLE 24 

THE  GUADALQUIVIR  AND  THE  TOWER  OF  GOLD 26 

GARDEN  OF  ST.  TELMO 27 

THE  ALCAZAR  OF  SEVILLE 29 

A  SPANISH  HERO 31 

THE  ARENA    . 32 

THE  CHULOS 34 

THE  PICADOR 35 

LEAP  FOR  LIFE 37 


X  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

THE  BANDERILLERO 38 

THE  MATADOR 39 

DEATH  IN  THE  ARENA 41 

THE  ALHAMBRA 43 

TOWER  OF  JUSTICE 44 

THE  COURT  OP  THE  MYRTLES 45 

HALL  OF  THE  AMBASSADORS 46- 

MOORISH  DECORATION 47 

DESECRATION  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA 48 

A  SPANISH  GIPSY 50 

THE  COURT  OF  THE  LIONS 51 

LIFE  IN  THE  ALHAMBRA .  5& 

THE  "LAST  SIGH  OF  THE  MOOR" 54 

"  HE  THINKS  OF  GRANADA  " 56 

THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR 57 

ILLUSTRATED  TITLE 59. 

GOING  TO  OBER-AMMERGAU 63 

THE  VALLEY  AND  THE  KOFEL 64- 

KING  LUDWIG'S  GIFT 65 

VILLAGE  OF  OBER-AMMERGAU 67 

EXTERIOR  OF  THEATRE 68 

JOSEPH  OF  ARIMATHEA gg 

HEROD 


PETER 


71 


72' 


MARY 

INTERIOR  OF  THEATRE 73 

THE  CHORUS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  xi 

PAGE 

TABLEAU 75 

ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM 76 

CHRIST  IN  THE  TEMPLE 78 

THE  LAST  SUPPEE 79 

JUDAS 80 

ISCARIOT  AND  THE  SANHEDRIM 81 

THE  BETRAYAL 83 

REMORSE  OF  JUDAS 84 

JOSEPH  MAIER 85 

CAIAPHAS 88 

PILATE 89 

JESUS  BEFORE  HEROD 90 

CHRIST  AND  BARABBAS  BEFORE  PILATE 91 

BARABBAS 92 

THE  SCOURGING 93 

THE  CROWN  OF  THORNS 94 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  CALVARY 95 

THE  CRUCIFIXION 96 

IT  is  FINISHED 98 

THE  DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS 99 

THE  RESURRECTION 100 

TAILPIECE  —  " THE  CHRIST" 101 

ILLUSTRATED  TITLE 103 

RUSSIAN  TEA-DRINKERS 110 

ST.  PETERSBURG 112 

COTTAGE  OF  PETER  THE  GREAT 114 

THE  NEVA  115 


xii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

A  CANAL  IN  ST.  PETEESBURG H6 

ST.  NICHOLAS  BRIDGE H8 

A  PALATIAL  RESIDENCE H9 

ST.  ISAAC'S  CATHEDRAL 120 

A  RUSSIAN  PEASANT 122 

ONE  OP  THE  "  DIRTY  PEOPLE" 123 

A  STREET  IN  ST.  PETEESBURG 125 

RUSSIAN  DROSCHKY 126 

THE  ALEXANDER  COLUMN 129 

THE  WINTEE  PALACE 130 

BALL-ROOM,  WINTEE  PALACE 133 

THE  BEEAKPAST  ROOM 135 

THE  CZAE'S  BED-ROOM 136 

ALEXANDER  II 137 

THE  FORTRESS 139 

STATUE  OP  THE  CZAE  NICHOLAS 141 

THE  HERMITAGE 142 

GALLEEY  IN  THE  HEEMITAGE 144 

CZAES-KOE-SELO 146 

THE  CHINESE  ROOM 147 

THE  CZAE'S  STUDY 148 

PARK  OP  CZAES-KOE-SELO 149 

THE  DRIVE-WAY 150 

PETEEHOP 151 

THE  BALL-ROOM  AT  PETEEHOP 154 

STATUE  OF  PETEE  THE  GEEAT 155 

THE  ADMIEALTY ....         .    .         .    .  157 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  xiii 

PAGE 

ILLUSTRATED  TITLE 159 

Moscow 162 

CONTRASTS  IN  ARCHITECTURE 164 

"THE  TRIBUNAL" 167 

THE  RED  GATE 168 

THE  ARCH  OF  VICTORY 169 

THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  SAVIOUR 170 

THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  NATIVITY 173 

THE  KREMLIN 176 

THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  KREMLIN 177 

THE  CONVENT  OF  THE  ASCENSION 178 

THE  ST.  NICHOLAS  GATE 180 

THE  IVAN  TOWER  AND  CATHEDRAL 181 

THE  "KiNG  OF  BELLS" 182 

KREMLIN  PALACE 185 

ST.  GEORGE'S  HALL 186 

ST.  ANDREW'S  HALL 187 

THE  THRONE  OF  THE  CZAR 189 

A  STAIRCASE  IN  THE  KREMLIN 190 

THE  BANQUET  HALL 192 

THE  ANCIENT  BEDROOM  OF  THE  CZARS 193 

THE  TREASURY 195 

THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  BASIL 196 

THE  SUICIDE  OF  Moscow 199 

NAPOLEON  .              .    •                                         201 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


TRAVELS    IN    SUNNY    SPAIN. 

NOT  many  years  ago,  a  tour  in  Spain  was  regarded  as  a  dan- 
gerous enterprise.  Even  the  Spaniards  themselves,  when 
about  to  travel  in  their  own  country^  first,  as  a  matter  of  course,  sent 
for  a  priest  to  absolve  their  sins,  a  doctor  to  give  them  medicine, 
and  a  lawyer  to  make  their  wills.  Within  a  few  years,  however, 
travelling  conveniences  have  so  far  improved,  that  priest,  physician, 
and  advocate  are  now  no  longer  deemed  so  indispensable  for  a  Span- 
ish journey  as  a  full  purse  and  a  reliable  guide-book.  And  yet,  unfor- 
tunately, almost  all  European  travellers  fail  to  visit  Spain.  But  they 
lose  thereby  a  country  scarcely  to  be  surpassed  in  interest  by  any  on 
the  globe.  Do  we  desire  sublime  and  varied  scenery  ?  It  is  there 
spread  broadcast,  skirted  by  the  classic  Mediterranean  and  canopied 
by  a  sky  of  incomparable  depth  and  beauty.  For  beneath  its  azure 
dome  not  only  bloom  the  olive,  the  pomegranate,  the  orange  and  the 
palm ;  but  there,  in  vivid  contrast  to  these,  are  rugged  mountains  and 
savage,  solitary  plains,  noble  and  majestic  even  in  their  severity.  Are 
we  in  quest  of  art  ?  Many  of  the  grandest  cathedrals  in  the  world 
rear  in  Spain  their  vast  proportions ;  while  her  famous  picture-gallery 
at  Madrid  is  the  equal  of  any  in  Italy,  and  the  superior  of  all  the  rest 
in  Europe.  Finally,  do  we  look  for  historic  interest  ?  Then  surely  we 
shall  not  be  disappointed  here ;  for  Spain  is  a  country  which  speaks 
to  us  of  the  successive  dominion  of  many  powerful  races,  each  of 
which  has  left  behind  it  indestructible  evidences  of  its  sway. 

1 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

Thus  ruins  dating  back  to  the  Koman,  Goth,  Moor,  and  Christian 
greet  us  at  every  turn,  fanned  by  the  perfumed  breath  of  orange- 
trees,  or  shaded  by  the  drooping  fringes  of  the  palm.  For  let  us 
remember  that  from  Spain  Koman  emperors  have  arisen,  to  wear 
the  Imperial  Purple  of  the  world ;  in  Spain  the  gifted  Moors  ruled 


TI1E    CITY    OF    TOLEDO. 


for  seven  centuries  in  splendor ;  while  Spain  it  was  that  discovered 
America,  and  held  for  years  in  her  controlling  hands  the  destinies 
of  the  two  hemispheres ! 

In  imagination  let  us  enter  this  fascinating  and  romantic  land 
of  Spain,  seeing  first  before  us   the   far-famed   city  of  Toledo.      It 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  3 

is  one  of  the  most  interesting  places  in  all  Spain,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  Jerusalem,  the  most  picturesquely  located  city  in  the 
world.  Viewed  from  near  or  far,  the  situation  of  Toledo  is  indeed 
magnificent :  enthroned  upon  a  rocky  bluff  twenty-four  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea.  At  its  base  the  river  Tagus,  surging  and  boiling 
through  a  chasm  in  the  granite  hills,  girdles  the  city  almost  com- 
pletely, leaving  only  one  avenue  of  approach  on  the  land  side,  which 
is  itself  defended  by  old  Moorish  walls  and  towers.  Moreover, 
like  the  throne  of  Hercules,  the  mythical  founder  of  the  place,  the 
hill  on  which  Toledo  stands  rises  almost  perpendicularly  from  the 
waves,  completely  terraced  with  old  houses,  churches,  palaces  and 
convents,  until  the  summit  is  crowned  by  the  enormous,  orange- 
colored  citadel  of  the  Alcazar,  frowning  for  miles  over  the  sur- 
rounding plain. 

What  wonder  that  with  such  a  situation  Toledo  has  been  besieged 
more  than  a  score  of  times  ?  What  marvel  that  every  conqueror  who 
beholds  it  covets  and  resolves  to  have  it  ?  For  what  a  history  has 
this  gloomy,  castle-crowned  city  !  Founded  long  before  the  Christian 
era  by  the  Phoenicians,  it  was  afterward  the  resort  of  the  Jews,  who 
fled  hither  after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  only  to  find  this  city 
also  ruled  by  the  all-conquering  Eomans.  Then  came  the  Goths, 
who  drove  the  Eomans  out  of  Spain,  as  they  had  previously  crushed 
Borne  in  Italy.  To  these  again  succeeded  the  Moors,  who,  perched 
like  eagles  on  these  rocky  heights,  bade  defiance  to  their  foes  for 
centuries.  But  finally  they  too  were  driven  forth  by  another  set  of 
conquerors ;  namely,  the  Christians,  who  having  gained  possession  of 
these  historic  cliffs  have  ever  since  retained  them. 

The  various  means  of  approach  to  this  old  Spanish  town  consist  of 
a  number  of  picturesque  bridges,  which  one  after  the  other  in  the 
course  of  centuries  have  flung  across  the  Tagus  their  gigantic  forms. 
One  of  these  was  erected  more  than  seven  hundred  years  ago,  to 
replace  a  Moorish  structure ;  and  connected  with  its  ponderous  old 
arch  is  an  odd  story  of  womanly  stratagem.  It  seems  that  the 
architect  discovered,  when  too  late,  that  his  work  was  not  strong 
enough,  and  must  inevitably  fall  beneath  a  heavy  burden.  To  his 


4  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

wife  alone  he  whispered  in  despair  his  unhappy  secret,  "  All  is  not 
lost,"  exclaimed  this  lady  of  Toledo ;  "  trust  but  to  me,  and  you  can 
still  retrieve  yourself."  Accordingly  that  very  night  she  caused  the 
bridge  to  be  set  on  fire,  and  by  burning  down  the  entire  structure 
saved  her  husband's  reputation;  for,  profiting  by  his  former  error, 
he  made  in  the  construction  of  this  arch  no  such  fault. 

Less  ancient  than  this,  but  wonderfully  graceful,  is  the  bridge  of 
Alcantara,  revealed  to  us  in  the  illustration,  spanning  the  glittering 
Tagus  in  a  single  arch.  Near  this  point  formerly  lived  that  lovely 
girl  whose  charms  were  destined  to  overthrow  the  Gothic  empire  in 
Spain.  The  last  of  the  Gothic  kings  who  sat  upon  the  throne  of 
Toledo  was  Roderick,  the  shameless  traitor  to  his  friend,  the  base 
betrayer  of  the  innocent  maiden  intrusted  to  his  care.  But,  solicited 
by  the  father  of  the  injured  girl,  on  came  the  Moors  in  their  career 
of  conquest ;  to  meet  whom  Roderick  went  forth  in  a  chariot  of  ivory, 
and  dressed  in  gold  and  purple,  but  was  destined,  despite  all  this  mag- 
nificence, to  encounter  ignominious  defeat  and  death  on  the  banks  of 
Guadalquivir,  where  the  fate  of  the  Goths  in  Spain  was  sealed,  and 
their  power  smitten  to  the  earth  by  the  resistless  Moors. 

If  you  are  not  tired  of  Toledo  tales,  let  me  tell  you  another.  Just 
beyond  this  bridge  is  a  little  church  called  "  Christ  of  the  Valley." 
Within  it  is  a  crucifix,  decorated,  as  usual  in  Spam,  with  real  hair. 
This  has  a  most  singular  history.  The  figure  of  Christ,  which  is  of 
life  size,  has  only  one  hand  nailed  to  the  cross ;  the  other  is  stretched 
out  toward  the  spectator.  A  poor  peasant  girl  once  made  her  lover 
swear  that  he  would  marry  her  if  she  accepted  his  caresses-.  The 
lover  broke  his  oath  and  deserted  her ;  whereupon  the  unhappy  girl 
came  to  this  church  and  called  upon  the  crucified  one  to  come  to 
her  rescue,  and  prove  to  the  world  her  promise  of  marriage.  He 
is  said  to  have  done  so ;  for  before  the  breathless  spectators  the 
hand  of  Christ  detached  itself  from  the  cross,  and  on  the  silent  air 
were  heard  the  solemn  words,  "  /  am  the  witness ! "  An  artist 
would  consider  this  story  a  fine  theme  for  a  poem  or  a  painting. 
The  more  practical  answer  would  be  that  few  breach-of-promise 
suits  are  as  well  sustained. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


Meantime  you  have  doubtless  noticed  that  beyond  the  portcullis 
and  the  tower,  which  mark  the  two  extremities  of  the  bridge,  the  road 
winds  gradually 
around  the  hill, 
like  an  Alpine 
pass,  leading  to 
yonder  Alcazar,  — 
that  stronghold  of 
so  many  conquer- 
ors, around  whose 
walls  the  angry 
flood  of  war  has 
often  dashed  its 
crimson  waves. 
This  was  once  so 
magnificent,  alike 
in  decoration  and 
dimensions,  that 
Charles  V.,  when 
he  first  entered  it, 
exclaimed :  "  To- 
day I  feel  as  never 
before  that  I  am 
an  Emperor  and 
a  King!"  But 

now  the  ravages  of  time  and  man  have  so  defaced  its  galleries  and 
gorgeous  halls,  that  the  once  proud  Alcazar  of  Toledo  is  nothing  but  a 
shell  of  granite,  looking  profoundly  sad  and  desolate  above  the  lonely 
river.  Only  its  indestructible  walls  remain  to  tell  us  that  it  was  once 
for  centuries  the  palatial  fortress  of  successive  rulers.  But  crossing 
now  this  handsome  bridge,  let  us  approach  one  of  the  massive  Portals 
of  Toledo,  the  Gateway  of  the  Sun,  —  a  splendid  symbol  of  its  ancient 
glory.  Such  an  entrance  gate  as  this  reminds  us  that  formerly  this 
city  was  the  pride  of  Spain,  as  famous  in  the  world  as  Constanti- 
nople or  Damascus.  The  favorite  city  of  the  exiled  Jew,  the  strong- 


GATEWAY 

OF   THE   SUN. 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


hold  of  the  Goth,  the  metropolis  of  the  Moor,  and  the  capital  of  the 
Christian,  it  still  bears  the  seal  of  grandeur  in  its  walls  and  towers. 
Yet,  when  I  passed  beneath  this  Moorish  arch,  although  it  was 
the  hour  of  noon,  it  appeared  wellnigh  as  tranquil  and  deserted  as 
we  here  behold  it.  The  grass  was  growing  in  the  pavement.  Few 
people  were  visible.  The  sleep  of  a  thousand  years  seemed  to  have 

fallen  upon  the  inhab- 
itants, from  which  they 
will  probably  never 
wake  to  resume  the  old 
life  of  the  ninth  centu- 
ry. Ilium  fuit  I  The 
glory  of  Toledo  has  de- 
parted. 

We  realize  this  em- 
phatically when,  passing 
on  beneath  this  gate, 
we  enter  a  characteristic 
Toledo  street.  Not  sure- 
ly a  place  for  rapid  driv- 
ing !  The  rough  pave- 
ment almost  dislocates 
our  joints  as  we  jolt  over 
it.  Nor  is  it  an  agree- 
able place  for  a  prom- 
enade. There  are  those 
who  date  the  birth  of 
their  corns  to  a  walk  in 

this  old  Spanish  town !  Once  in  our  walks  through  this  city  of  the 
past  we  heard  a  rumbling  like  distant  thunder,  which  gradually  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  startling  us  by  its  contrast  to  the  usual  tomb-like 
stillness  of  the  place.  The  cause  was  soon  apparent.  It  was  the 
hotel  omnibus  ;  one  of  the  few  vehicles  of  which  Toledo  can  boast. 
We  were  in  one  of  the  comparatively  broad  streets,  yet  had  to  step 
into  a  doorway  to  avoid  being  crushed  by  the  passing  wheels,  which 
almost  grazed  the  houses  in  their  course. 


A   SPANISH   STREET. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  7 

Tradition  says  that  in  the  days  of  the  Christian  conquest,  when 
that  famous  Spanish  chieftain,  the  Cid,  was  riding  through  one 
of  these  Toledan  streets,  his  horse  suddenly  fell  on  its  knees. 
In  these  ungodly  times,  when  our  horses  try  thus  to  appear  devo- 
tional, we  force  them  to  get  up  and  go  on ;  and  if  they  refuse,  we 
suspect  them  of  having  the  blind  staggers.  Not  so  in  the  time  of 
the  Cid.  When  his  old  mare  knelt  down,  all  knew  that  she  was 
influenced  by  some  religious  motive.  Accordingly  they  pulled  down 
a  wall  before  which  she  was  kneeling,  and  as  the  stones  fell,  a  stream 
of  light  poured  forth.  Was  it  a  candle  ?  Perish  the  thought !  A 
crucifix  was  discovered  there,  which  had  been  hidden  by  the  Goths 
centuries  before,  when  the  Moors  took  the  city.  The  altar  lamp  was 
still  burning  miraculously,  and  the  Cid's  devout  horse  was  of  course 
regarded  as  inspired.  We  saw  the  crucifix  and  the  lamp.  Upon  the 
former  was  a  figure  of  Christ  with  real  hair  reaching  nearly  to  the 
waist.  The  lamp  still  burns.  •  It  is  said  that  an  irreverent  American 
upon  hearing  this  story  inquired :  "  Has  that  'ere  lamp  been  burn- 
ing for  a  thousand  years  ? "  "  Si,  Senor,  for  one  towsand  years." 
Murmuring  "  One  thousand  years,"  the  American  bent  over  it  and 
suddenly  gave  a  tremendous  puff.  Horrors !  The  lamp  was  extin- 
guished !  "  There,"  exclaimed  the  representative  of  the  stars  and 
stripes,  "  the  plaguy  thing  is  out  now  anyway ! " 

On  both  sides  of  us,  as  we  ride  along,  rise  high  and  massive  houses, 
severe  and  melancholy  in  appearance,  solid  as  citadels,  and  pierced 
with  occasional  grated  windows.  We  realize  that  we  are  in  the  very 
heart  of  Northern  Spain.  The  dwellings  are  not  open  as  in  the 
southern  towns  of  Andalusia.  No  charming  courtyards  reveal  their 
flowers  and  fountains  behind  trellises  of  open  iron-work.  On  the 
contrary  the  gateways  seem  almost  like  the  portals  of  a  fortress, 
flanked  as  they  are  by  columns  of  granite,  while  their  heavy  oaken 
doors  are  studded  with  enormous  iron  nails.  Two  ponderous  iron 
knockers  hang  upon  these  doors ;  one  to  be  used  by  pedestrians,  the 
other,  much  higher,  to  be  struck  by  horsemen.  Everything  seems 
sombre,  stern  and  mysterious.  This  is  indeed  a  city  of  the  past, — 
almost  as  sad  and  silent  as  a  tomb.  I  can  recall  no  town  so  utterly 


8 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


devoid  of  modern  characteristics,  so  hopelessly  sunk  in  the  ruins  of 

past  grandeur.     It  is  the  ghost  of  a  departed  glory. 

Yet  Spain  is  probably  richer  in  cathedrals  than  any  other  country 

in  the  world ;  and  one  of  the  grandest  of  them  all  is  at  Toledo.     The 

Virgin  Mary  is  said  to 
have  a  special  liking  for 
it;  and  if  this  be  true, 
she  certainly  possesses 
excellent  taste.  She  has 
even  paid  it  frequent 
visits,  I  am  told;  and 
once  actually  descended 
for  the  special  purpose 
of  putting  a  new  robe  on 
St.  Ildefonso,  one  of  its 
archbishops.  This  scene 
is  constantly  represented 
in  sculpture  and  paint- 
ing in  all  parts  of  the 
cathedral,  and,  to  pre- 
clude all  doubt  about  it, 
the  very  stone  is  shown 
on  which  the  Virgin 
alighted.  Encased  in  red 
A  TOLEDEAN  HOUSE.  marble,  it  is  surrounded 

by  a  railing,  and  over  it 

is  the  following  inscription :  "  We  will  worship  in  the  place  where 

her  feet  have  stood." 

There  are  several  statues  of  the  Virgin  in  this  Toledo  cathedral, 

each  of  which  possesses  a  gorgeous  toilette.     One  especially  has  a 

mantle  for  gala  days,  with  seventy-eight  thousand  pearls  embroidered 

on  it !     Not  content  with  that,  she  wears,  moreover,  a  great  many 

diamonds,  rubies,  and  emeralds. 

Her  crown  alone  cost  more  than  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  and 

her  bracelets  are  valued  at  ten  thousand.      These  are  presents  of 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  9 

kings  and  queens,  popes,  archbishops,  and  private  ladies  of  wealth. 
Nor  is  this  strange ;  for  the  Virgin  ranks  as  a  queen,  in  Spam,  and 
always  wears  the  royal  crown.  To  one  particular  statue  of  Mary,  near 
Madrid,  the  queens  of  Spain  have  for  years  given  their  wedding 
dresses.  She  wears  them  in  processions,  and  has  several  trunks 
filled  with  them.  How  few  virgins  are  so  fortunate  ! 

It  is  also  a  fact  that  the  greatest  ladies  of  the  kingdom  take  charge 
of  the  wardrobe,  altars,  and  decorations  of  the  Virgin,  much  as  the 
ancients  did  in  regard  to  the  statues  of  Diana,  Juno,  and  Venus. 
Even  the  poorest  village  in  Spain  has  some  statue  of  Mary ;  and 
when  rival  processions  meet,  the  worshippers  of  one  town  have  more 
than  once  insulted  the  rival  image  of  the  other,  pelting  it  with  stones, 
but  defending  theirs  with  knife  and  pistol ! 

I  went  to  one  chapel  in  this  cathedral  to  see  a  "genuine  por- 
trait "  of  the  Virgin.  Much  to  my  astonishment,  I  found  it  to  con- 
sist of  a  wooden  statue,  so  darkened  by  time  as  to  closely  resemble  a 
negress.  It  is  said  to  be  authentic,  and  unhappily  there  is  no  way  of 
disproving  it.  At  all  events,  it  is  covered  with  silver  and  jewels. 

While  speaking  of  this  feature  of  the  Toledo  cathedral,  let  me 
mention  another,  which  is,  indeed,  characteristic  of  all  the  churches 
in  Spain.  Hanging  on  both  sides  of  almost  every  Spanish  altar  are 
miniature  arms,  legs,  hands,  noses,  and  feet,  made  of  wax,  suspended 
there  in  great  numbers,  as  though  they  were  ornaments  for  a  Christmas 
tree.  On  inquiry,  I  learned  that  they  all  represent  cures  which  are 
supposed  to  have  been  effected  by  the  Virgin's  aid.  There  is  a  sim- 
plicity about  this  which  is  striking.  Instead  of  the  votive  tables  of 
the  French  churches,  which  coldly  state  the  unembellished  facts  of 
recovery,  we  have  in  Spam  the  more  eloquent  testimonials  of  the  wax 
figures.  Thus  if  a  lame  leg  has  been  cured  by  the  Virgin,  the  wax 
limb  is  hung  up  as  a  triumphant  proof  of  the  miracle. 

But  all  this  is  soon  forgotten  when  we  turn  away  from  statues 
and  relics  of  Virgin  and  saints  to  contemplate  the  grand  proportions 
and  beautiful  architecture  of  the  edifice  itself.  After  the  bright  glare 
of  the  Spanish  sunlight  without,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  find  ourselves  in 
the  grateful  twilight  of  the  interior.  It  is  much  less  dark  than  the 


10 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


cathedral  of  Seville,  and  its  seven  hundred  and  fifty  iris-colored  win- 
dows flood  the  vast  edifice  with  a  marvellously  beautiful  combination 
of  light  and  shade. 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  TOLEDO  CATHEDRAL. 

The  pavement  on  which  we  walk  is  a  variegated  marble,  and 
around  us  are  twenty-three  fine  chapels  of  different  styles  and  periods. 
Upon  this  cathedral,  indeed,  the  greatest  artists  of  Spain  labored 
successively  during  six  centuries.  Wonder  not  then  that  it  excited 
our  enthusiasm.  For  example,  the  choir  of  this  church  is  decorated 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  11 

with  probably  the  most  elaborate  wood-carvings  in  the  world.  It 
was  unfortunately  the  fashion  of  Spanish  architects  to  place  the 
choir  —  that  is,  the  place  where  the  service  is  chanted  —  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  church;  an  arrangement  which  blocks  up  the  great 
nave,  and  sadly  interferes  with  the  general  perspective  down  the 
main  aisle.  But  in  this  case  our  disappointment  at  its  position  is 
fully  compensated  by  the  beauty  which  it  reveals  to  us  on  entering. 
It  is  a  veritable  museum  of  mediaeval  sculpture  in  wood.  Around  a 
pavement  made  of  large  white  marble  slabs  rise  on  three  sides  two 
rows  of  seats  for  the  priests,  one  above  the  other.  I  have  never  seen 
any  thing  comparable  to  these  sacerdotal  chairs,  although  all  Spanish 
cathedrals  are  rich  in  carvings  which  somewhat  resemble  them. 

The  arms,  backs,  feet,  head-pieces,  and  railings  of  these  seats  are 
most  elaborately  wrought  into  sacred,  grotesque,  mythological,  or 
historic  subjects  in  bas-relief. 

The  upper  row  is  the  work  of  the  celebrated  rivals,  Berruguete  and 
Philip  of  Borgona,  who,  after  a  bitter  contest,  undertook  their  tasks, 
each  determined  to  excel  the  other.  One  carved  the  seats  on  one 
side  of  the  choir,  the  other  the  opposite  ones.  It  is,  indeed,  difficult  to 
say  who  deserves  the  palm;  for,  as  there  was  contention  between  the 
sculptors,  so  there  will  always  be  disagreement  in  the  opinions  of 
spectators.  Moreover,  these  seats  are  separated  by  beautiful  jasper 
pillars,  with  alabaster  basements  and  capitals ;  and  over  them  all  ex- 
tends a  series  of  alabaster  medallions,  with  figures  of  the  saints  and 
patriarchs  in  relief. 

Just  beyond  this  magnificent  choir  are  the  high  chapel  and  altar, 
which  produce  a  most  imposing  effect.  In  imagination  linger  with 
me  for  a  moment  here.  The  splendid  sacerdotal  chairs  are  behind  us. 
We  are  standing  within  a  chapel  fifty-six  feet  long  and  fifty  wide, 
while  the  sculptured,  gilded,  and  painted  roof,  one  hundred  and  six- 
teen feet  above  us,  looks  like  a  miniature  sky.  The  marble  piers  which 
support  this  are  decorated  with  a  veritable  population  of  statues, 
representing  kings,  bishops,  saints,  and  angels  with  outspread  wings. 
Before  us,  broad  steps  of  jasper  and  colored  marble  lead  up  to  the 
high  altar,  behind  which  rises  in  grandeur  the  most  imposing  object 


12  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

in  the  whole  cathedral.  This  is  the  retablo,  or  altar-screen,  —  the 
work  of  twenty-seven  artists,  and  the  pride  of  Toledo.  You  can  form 
some  idea  of  this  when  I  tell  you  that  it  rises  from  the  pavement 
to  the  very  roof,  and  is  therefore  one  hundred  and  sixteen  feet  high. 
It  is-  divided  into  five  stories,  separated  by  elaborately  wrought 
columns,  the  material  being  wood,  richly  painted,  carved,  and  gilded. 
These  stories  are  profusely  ornamented  with  statuettes,  columns, 
colossal  figures,  arabesques,  and  filigree  work,  of  whose  combined 
effect  no  description  can  give  an  adequate  idea ;  for  all  these  are 
painted  and  gilded  with  extraordinary  richness. 

We  had  left  this  splendid  work  of  the  mediaeval  artists,  and  found 
ourselves  in  one  of  the  side  aisles  of  the  cathedral.  As  these  ap- 
proach the  head  of  the  Latin  cross  which  forms  the  ground  plan  of 
this  grand  edifice,  they  wind  about  the  high  altar  with  a  beautiful 
curve,  which  is  charming  from  its  grace,  and  awe-inspiring  from  its 
lofty  and  majestic  sweep.  As  we  entered  this  curving  avenue  of 
pillars,  a  sight  burst  upon  our  view  which  I  can  never  forget, 
and  which  irresistibly  silenced  our  voices  into  whispers,  and  for  a 
moment  held  us  spell-bound  where  we  stood.  The  lofty  roof  of  the 
cathedral  seemed  to  have  opened,  and  there,  in  the  glory  of  ten  thou- 
sand sunbeams,  we  saw  a  multitude  of  angels,  cherubs,  saints,  and 
apostles,  descending  from  the  opened  skies.  For  an  instant  the 
illusion  was  as  perfect  as  if  we  were  witnessing  a  celestial  vision. 

Nor  was  this  effect  strange.  Directly  behind  the  grand  retablo, 
which  I  have  described,  there  is  really  a  circular  opening  in  the  ceil- 
ing through  which  the  light  freely  enters.  Around  and  within  this, 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  is  a  multitude  of  marble  figures,  whose 
appearance  thus  is  that  of  saints  and  angels  descending  on  the  clouds 
of  heaven.  In  no  other  cathedral  of  the  world  have  I  ever  seen  such 
a  design,  and  I  can  recall  few  more  effective.  Perhaps  at  some  other 
time  the  impression  would  have  been  different.  But  we  beheld  it 
shortly  before  sunset,  when  the  long  naves  were  darkening  in  the 
twilight  and  the  storied  windows  of  the  cathedral  were  glowing  like 
tablets  of  rubies  and  emeralds.  At  such  an  hour  this  lofty,  statue- 
crowned  aperture,  through  which  the  rays  of  sunset  poured  like  a 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  13 

noiseless  cataract  of  gold,  seemed  like  the  wondrous  revelation  of 
another  world. 

But,  interesting  as  Toledo  is  from  an  historical  or  artistic  point  of 
view,  candor  compels  me  to  confess  that,  so  far  as  material  comforts 
are  concerned,  Toledo  is  not  a  place  to  satisfy  the  epicure  or  pleasure- 
seeker.  Once,  for  example,  wearied  by  continued  sight-seeing  and 
conscious  of  an  aching  void  which  naught  but  food  could  fill,  we 
made  our  way  to  that  establishment  which  in  Toledo  is  called  by 
courtesy  a  hotel.  In  its  courtyard  were  an  unusual  number  of 
filthy,  blear-eyed  beggars,  whose  smell,  appearance  and  whinings  were 
enough  to  turn  one's  stomach.  Two  waiters,  gossiping  with  a  girl  in 
the  hall,  received  my  order  for  dinner  with  perfect  indifference,  and 
smoked  cigarettes  all  the  time  I  was  talking.  At  the  end  of  half  an 
hour's  waiting  I  went  in  search  of  them  again.  I  found  them  still 
smoking,  but  having  really  gotten  so  far  as  to  set  the  table.  Using 
the  choicest  Castilian  I  could  muster,  I  bade  them  hurry,  as  we 
wished  to  catch  the  train  for  Madrid.  With  the  most  indifferent 
air  they  removed  their  cigarettes  from  their  mouths  long  enough 
to  say  "  Immediately."  At  the  end  of  another  half-hour  I  entered 
the  dining-hall,  ready  to  wreak  vengeance  on  anything  or  anybody 
I  could  find.  Fortunately  the  meal  was  at  last  ready.  The  waiters, 
however,  continued  smoking  all  the  time  they  served  it;  and  the 
sight  of  their  tobacco-stained,  jaundiced-looking  fingers  was  not  par- 
ticularly appetizing.  Moreover,  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  was  a 
wedding  party.  The  guests  were  most  repulsively  uproarious.  All 
the  men  were  smoking,  guzzling  wine,  and  joking  coarsely  with  the 
bride  and  her  friends.  One  female  (I  can  hardly  call  her  anything 
else)  was  slapping  men  familiarly  on  the  shoulders  and  rocking 
about  in  her  chair,  as  if  she  were  intoxicated.  Having  declined  a 
certain  dish,  the  bridegroom  insisted  that  she  should  take  some,  — and 
so  strenuously,  indeed,  that  he  rose  from  his  seat,  made  the  circuit  of 
the  table  with  a  piece  of  greasy  meat  upon  a  fork,  and  tried  to  force 
it  into  the  woman's  mouth.  Failing  in  this,  he  actually  rubbed  the 
meat  over  her  face  amid  the  yells  of  the  company.  In  the  midst  of 
such  pleasing  surroundings  we  took  our  Toledo  dinner ! 


14  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

I  will  not  describe  the  dishes  of  this  repast.  Indeed  I  could 
not.  They  were  indescribable.  The  bread  was  so  hard  that,  having 
attempted  several  times  in  vain  to  break  it,  I  decided  to  take  my 
loaf  home  as  a  paper-weight.  The  wine  tasted  like  stale  vinegar. 
There  was  no  butter.  That  is  a  rarity  everywhere  in  Spain,  and 
when  one  does  get  it,  he  might  as  well  eat  French  pomade.  As  for 
the  meat, —  it  fully  justified  the  Spanish  proverb:  "  God  sends  good 
meat  to  Spain,  but  the  devil  cooks  it." 

While  we  were  worrying  down  fragments  of  this  memorable  meal, 
I  noticed  upon  the  table-cloth  near  my  plate  a  black  dot,  —  I  mean 
blacker  than  the  rest  of  the  cloth,  for  all  of  it  was  dirty.  I  put 
my  hand  out  to  remove  it,  when  to  my  surprise  it  leaped  into  my 
plate !  I  said  nothing  to  my  suffering  companions,  but  sat  for  some 
time  musing  over  the  question,  why  Noah  ever  admitted  a  pair  of 
fleas  into  the  ark.  Doubtless  they  took  up  less  room  than  most  of 
the  animals,  and  proved  very  lively  companions.  But  oh,  Father 
Noah,  ,if  you  only  could  have  spared  them,  your  loss  would  have 
been  for  us  travellers  a  blessed  gain ;  for  at  the  present  time  the 
traveller  must  come  to  Spain  expecting  not  to  eat,  but  to  be  eaten. 
As  a  rule,  Spanish  cooking  is  detestable.  Of  course  in  the  best 
hotels  (when  kept  by  French  landlords)  one  can  fare  quite  well. 
But  once  leave  the  large  cities  and  try  small  towns  like  Toledo  and 
Burgos,  and,  unless  you  resort  to  oranges,  you  will  well-nigh  perish 
from  hunger.  If  you  ask  for  bread,  you  will  receive  (almost  literally) 
a  stone.  The  ruling  principle  of  Spanish  cookery  is  stewing,  for 
from  a  scarcity  of  fuel  roasting  is  almost  unknown.  Sauces  are  full 
of  garlic  and  oil.  Even  the  celebrated  Spanish  chocolate  was  pro- 
nounced by  every  one  of  us  to  be  wretched  stuff,  though  there  are 
some  who  extol  its  virtues  to  the  skies.  Cooking  is  surely  not  the 
brilliant  feature  of  Spain,  and  has  hardly  improved  since  the  days 
of  Don  Quixote ;  while  its  smaller  hotels  are  as  devoid  of  comfort 
and  as  full  of  animals  as  Noah's  ark  ever  could  have  been. 

But  we  shall  speedily  forget  such  minor  miseries  as  these,  if  now 
we  take  a  more  extensive  view  from  one  of  the  battlements  of 
Toledo.  From  this  we  look  directly  down  upon  the  stern  and 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


15 


melancholy  Tagus,  whose  surface  we  again  behold  reflepting  the 
arches  of  that  massive  bridge  gray  with  the  mists  of  seven  centuries. 
If  there  be  a  river  in  the  world  which  has  apparently  failed  to  fulfil 
its  mission,  it  is  the  one  on  which  we  look.  Designed  by  Nature  to 
be  the  grand  highway  of  Spain,  it  nevertheless  flows  on  quite  solitary 
and  unused  for  many  hundred  miles.  It  might  be  made  navigable  to 
the  sea,  and  thus 
connect  interior 
Spain  with  Lis- 
bon and  the  At- 
lantic. Yet  for  a 
great  extent  its 
waves  are  fur- 
rowed by  no  white 
winged  fleets ;  its 
waters  reflect 
castles  and  dun- 
geons instead  of 
ports  and  ware- 
house s,  and 
scarcely  even  a 
village  rises  from 
its  banks.  No 
commerce  finds  a 
channel  here,  and 
although  its  sands 
are  reported  to  be 
in  reality,  as  they 
are  in  appear- 
ance, golden,  this 

misused,  melancholy  Tagus  flows  idly  on  through  plains  which  now 
lie  barren  and  untilled,  but  which  the  magic  wand  of  the  Moor  once 
made  to  blossom  like  a  garden.  Its  barren  banks  remind  us  of  the 
Spanish  proverb :  "  The  lark  which  would  traverse  this  country  must 
bring  its  own  grain."  I  can  never  forget  the  view  which  greeted  us 


THE   MELANCHOLY   TAGUS. 


16  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

as  we  left  Toledo  on  the  edge  of  evening.  Its  mighty  walls  and 
towers  rose  grandly  above  us,  isolated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by 
the  solitude  of  their  surroundings,  and  standing  out  against  the 
evening  sky  as  solemn  and  mysterious  as  a  vision  of  the  past.  At 
last  the  setting  sun  turned  one  by  one  the  ripples  of  this  river  to  a 
glittering  pavement.  Through  the  ruined  towers  it  flung  the  ruddy 
glow  of  a  conflagration,  tingeing  them  with  that  soft  vermilion  blush 
which  only  the  southern  sun  can  bestow  upon  the  buildings  of  the 
past.  In  that  golden  twilight  the  harsh  outlines  of  its  battlements 
grew  soft  and  mellow,  until  the  many  scars  inflicted  there  by  time 
and  man  were  all  concealed ;  while  glittering  in  the  saffron  west, 
the  grand  Alcazar  looked  like  a  vast  sarcophagus  of  gold,  in  which 
the  glory  of  dead  empires  lay  entombed. 

But  from  Toledo  let  us  now  hasten  southward  into  the  district  of 
Andalusia,  to  find  upon  its  very  threshold  the  famous  city  Cordova, 
—  a  place  so  thronged  with  impressive  memories  that  I  hardly  know 
where  to  begin  in  my  description.  More  than  two  thousand  years 
ago  it  was  a  famous  Roman  city ;  but  its  especial  glory  dates  from 
the  conquest  of  the  Moors.  With  their  advent  so  brilliant  an  era  of 
prosperity  was  ushered  in  that  it  received  the  name  of  the  "  Athens 
of  the  West."  Indeed,  the  wealth,  luxury  and  refinement  of  Cor- 
dova under  the  Moors  reads  like  an  Eastern  tale.  In  the  tenth 
century,  when  all  Christian  Europe  was  sunk  in  the  depths  of 
ignorance,  witchcraft  and  semi-barbarism,  Cordova  possessed  nearly 
a  million  inhabitants.  Within  these  walls  were  then  six  hundred 
mosques,  fifty  hospitals,  nine  hundred  baths,  six  hundred  inns,  eight 
hundred  schools,  and  a  library  of  six  hundred  thousand  volumes ! 
And  that,  too,  when  four  hundred  years  later  the  royal  library  of 
France  consisted  of  only  nine  hundred  volumes ! 

Let  us  recall  just  here  the  testimony  of  the  great  scientist  and 
philosopher,  Humboldt,  than  whom  we  could  desire  no  higher  author- 
ity. "The  Arabs,"  he  says,  "have  enlarged  our  views  of  nature,  and 
enriched  science  with  a  great  number  of  new  creations.  They  de- 
serve to  be  regarded  as  the  veritable  founders  of  physical  science,  even 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


17 


taking  those  words  in  the  extended  sense  which  they  bear  to-day. 
They  may  almost  be  said  to  have  created  botany.  Chemistry  is  no 
less  indebted  to  them.  They  cultivated  geography  and  geometry 
with  success.  Astronomy  especially  owes  to  them  an  extensive 
development,  and  they  determined  the  duration  of  the  earth's  annual 
revolution  with  an  exactness  which  differs  but  one  or  two  minutes 
from  the  most  recent  calculations." 

Meantime,  have  you  noticed  this  structure  before  us  ?    It  is  the 
ruined  tower  of  Abdurrahman  the  Great,  —  the  most  enlightened  of 

all  the  caliphs  of 
Cordova.  It  once 
formed  part  of  his 
almost  unrivalled 
palace,  but  now 
serves  only  as  a 
melancholy  symbol 
of  decay.  As  we 
look  upon  it,  we 
remember  that  it 
was  by  this  Ab- 
durrahman's order 
that  the  streets  of 
Cordova  were  the 
first  paved  in  Eu- 
rope, —  admirably 

constructed  two  hundred  years  before  the  first  paving  stone  was  laid  in 
Paris. 

Here  too,  under  the  Moors,  one  could  walk  for  miles  at  night 
illumined  all  the  way  by  public  lamps,  seven  hundred  years  'before, 
the  first  street-lamp  was  lit  in  London;  while  by  the  Moors  encyclo- 
pedias and  scientific  treatises  were  written,  when  many  Christian 
princes  could  scarcely  read  or  write.  Ah !  it  was  a  terrible  day 
for  Cordova,  and  for  all  Spain,  when  the  high-bred,  courteous  Moors 
were  driven  out  of  this  country  which  they  had  ruled  so  well 
for  centuries.  Wealth,  learning,  art,  industry  and  the  charm  of 

2 


TOWER  OF   ABDURRAHMAN. 


18 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


Oriental  life  went  largely  with  them,  and  Spain  has  been  unquestion- 
ably lower  in  the  scale  of  prosperity  and  intelligence  ever  since. 

Nowhere,  perhaps,  do  we  realize  this  more  practically  than  when 
we  look  upon  a  Cordovan  wagon,  with  its  clumsy  frame  and  wheels 
of  ill-shaped  solid  blocks  of  wood.  This  is  primitive  locomotion  in- 


A    CORDOVAN  WAGON. 

deed.  Yet  this  is  only  characteristic  of  the  place.  To  a  system  of 
agriculture  which,  under  the  Arabs,  made  of  this  country  the  garden 
of  the  world,  has  succeeded  a  method  which  uses  the  root  of  a  tree 
for  a  plough,  and  for  a  means  of  transportation  the  back  of  a  donkey 
or  such  a  wretched  vehicle  as  this.  Indeed,  since  the  expulsion  of 
the  Moors  the  population  of  Cordova  has  dwindled  from  a  million  to 
forty  thousand.  Its  nine  hundred  public  baths  have  disappeared ; 
its  six  hundred  inns  have  been  reduced  to  two ;  its  skill  and  indus- 
tries have  vanished ;  the  light  of  its  great  universities  has  been  put 
out ;  while,  to  crown  all,  in  Andalusia,  where  we  now  are,  the  coun- 
try of  the  gifted  Moors,  in  whose  embrace  are  Cordova,  Seville,  and 
Granada,  in  one  of  its  provinces,  out  of  a  population  of  three  hundred 
and  sixty  thousand,  in  this  nineteenth  century  more  than  three  hun- 
dred thousand  cannot  read  or  write. 

Nevertheless,  one  monument  remains  in  Cordova  to  attest  its 
ancient  glory,  unique  and  without  a  rival  in  the  world.  It  is  the 
Moorish  Mosque.  This  alone  would  well  repay  a  special  visit  to 
Spain.  In  the  exterior,  however,  one  can  at  present  discover  nothing 
either  Moorish  or  beautiful ;  for  that  has  suffered  shameful  desecra- 


TRAVELS  IN   SUNNY  SPAIN. 


19 


tion.  When  the  Christians  captured  the  city,  they  dedicated  this 
building  to  the  Virgin  Maiy,  and  sought  to  "purify"  it  by  defacing 
its  Moorish  decorations.  Before  this  mosque,  for  example,  in  the 
time  of  the  Moors,  was  (and,  for  that  matter,  still  is)  a  beautiful  court- 
yard filled  with  orange-trees  and  forming  a  kind  of  vestibule  to  the 
mosque  itself.  Standing  beneath  the  snowy  orange  blossoms,  the 
Moslem  saw  be- 
fore him  then  a 
facade  of  nine- 
teen beautiful 
horse-shoe  arches, 
separated  from 
each  other  by 
magnificent  col- 
umns, and  open 
thus  continually 
between  the  or- 
ange grove  on  one 
side  and  the 
grand  interior  on 
the  other.  Now, 
however,  these 
pillars  are  badly 
mutilated,  and  all 
the  arches  are 
walled  up  save 
one.  Through 
this  remaining 

doorway,  therefore,  let  us  enter  the  wondrous  Mosque  of  Cordova. 
At  the  first  glance  we  seem  to  have  passed  within  some  sacred 
grove;  for  before  us  is  a  perfect  forest  of  marble,  jasper,  porphyry,  and 
alabaster  columns.  They  cross  each  other  at  right  angles,  forming  in 
one  direction  nineteen  and  in  the  other  twenty-nine  parallel  naves, 
connected  by  innumerable  Moorish  arches.  We  look  down  the  long 
perspectives  and  can  with  difficulty  discern  their  end ;  for  the  dimen- 


THE   MOSQUE   OF   CORDOVA. 


20  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

sions  of  this  mosque  actually  exceed  those  of  St.  Peter's  at  Borne. 
Think  of  it !  There  are  here  no  less  than  one  thousand  and  ninety-six 
of  these  marble  columns,  each  one  of  them  a  monolith  —  one  single 
block  of  polished  stone  !  Moreover,  every  one  of  these  has  an  eventful 
history.  They  are  the  spoils  of  the  temples  of  the  East  and  West. 
Some  are  from  the  shrines  of  Carthage ;  others  are  from  Eome ; 
others  from  Constantinople ;  some  are  from  Jerusalem,  and  on  them 
Jesus  may  have  looked;  while  two  are  from  Damascus,  and  were 
highly  prized  by  Abdurrahman  eleven  hundred  years  ago!  Truly 
there  are  memories  in  the  dusky  aisles  of  this  marble  forest  which 
make  the  heart  beat  quickly  and  the  eyes  grow  dim  ! 

As  we  walk  through  this  labyrinth  of  porphyry  and  jasper, 
we  continually  ask  ourselves  in  amazement,  "If  the  impression 
made  upon  us  now  by  this  mosque  is  awe-inspiring,  what  would  it 
have  been  in  the  days  of  the  Caliphs  ? "  For  then  four  thousand  seven 
hundred  gilded  lamps  flooded  it  with  radiance.  The  number  of  these 
columns  was  then  more  than  twelve  hundred.  The  ceiling  was  all  of 
cedar-wood  carved  to  represent  overhanging  tropical  foliage.  The 
floors,  too,  were  covered  with  Oriental  rugs,  and  in  the  shadow  of 
these  polished  shafts  knelt  hundreds  of  adoring  worshippers. 

But  this  contrast  leads  me  to  speak  of  something  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult even  to  mention  in  cool  blood  while  remaining  in  Cordova,  namely, 
the  desecration  of  this  mosque  by  the  Spaniards.  Not  satisfied  with 
the  "purification"  which  they  had  effected  without,  they  white- 
washed over  and  totally  destroyed  the  sculptured  ceiling  of  cedar- 
wood,  so  beautiful  as  to  be  worthy  of  the  Alhambra,  All  the  outside 
aisles  were  filled  up  with  forty -five  cheap  and  tawdry  chapels,  thus 
willing  in  more  than  one  hundred  of  these  splendid  columns ;  and 
sixty  more  were  levelled  in  the  centre  of  the  mosque  to  make  room 
for  an  ugly  chapel  two  hundred  feet  in  length,  which,  placed  in  this 
maze  of  slender  monoliths,  looks  like  a  hideous  tumor,  obstructs  the 
view,  and  exasperates  the  beholder. 

When  Charles  V.,  who  was  himself  something  of  a  Vandal,  beheld 
this  barbarism,  he  was  indignant  with  the  monks  who  had  effected  it, 
exclaiming,  "  You  have  built  here  what  might  have  been  built  any- 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


21 


where,  but  you  have  destroyed  that  which  was  unique  in  the  world." 
But  it  was  then  too  late  for  repentance :  the  irreparable  evil  had  been 
done.  As  I  lingered,  therefore,  in  the  shadowed  aisles  of  this  sculp- 
tured grove  and  breathed  the  perfumed  air  of  its  orange-laden  court- 
yard, the  chanting  of  the  Spanish  priests  fell  strangely  on  my  ear, 
and  I  seemed  to  be  standing  beside  the  tomb  of  that  great  Moorish 
genius,  which  has,  alas  !  passed  away  forever. 

But  from  historic  Cordova  let  us  hasten  now  to  fair  Seville,  the 
Paris  of  Andalusia,  the  gayest  city  of  all  Spain,  the  home  of  Figaro 
and  Don  Juan. 
Glittering  like  a 
jewel  on  the 
banks  of  the 
Guadalquivir,  en- 
vironed by  or- 
ange groves  and 
palms,  and  glow- 
ing under  an  ar- 
dent sun,  it  is 
almost  an  Orien- 
tal city.  Its  in- 
habitants  are 
the  merriest  of 

all  Spaniards,  and,  like  the  Neapolitans,  are  careless  children  of 
the  sun.  Many  of  them  seem  to  live  —  who  can  tell  how  ?  —  on 
an  orange  or  a  bit  of  bread,  yet  always  have  strength  enough  left 
to  thrum  a  guitar  or  dance  a  fandango.  They  sleep  on  the  steps  of 
churches,  they  warm  themselves  in  the  sun,  and  know  of  heaven 
only  what  they  see  of  it  through  the  smoke  of  their  cigarettes  as 
they  lie  on  their  backs  in  the  cool  shade,  the  very  pictures  of  dolcc 
far  niente. 

Long  before  one  reaches  Seville,  he  sees  in  the  distance  the  especial 
marvel  of  the  place,  —  its  grand  Cathedral.  The  very  spot  on  which 
it  stands  has  been  for  twenty  centuries  a  place  of  worship.  Venus, 


THE   CITY  OF   SEVILLE. 


22 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


Jesus,  Allah,  and  now  Jesus  again,  have  been  in  turn  worshipped 
here  in  temple,  basilica,  mosque  and  church;  but  one  shrine  has 
given  place  to  another,  until  now  we  see  before  us  the  noblest  cathe- 
dral of  Spain,  and  therefore  of  necessity  one  of  the  finest  in  the 
world.  Above  this,  and  rising  far  higher  than  the  intervening  build- 


THE    GIRALDA. 


ings,  we  note  the  famous  Giralda,  or  bell-tower,  built  long  ago  by  the 
Moors,  that  from  its  summit  the  muezzin  might  call  the  faithful  to 
prayer,  as  is  done  in  all  the  cities  of  the  East  to-day.  Let  us  approach 
this  Giralda,  until,  from  the  extremity  of  a  narrow  street,  we  view  its 
entire  length  rising,  as  it  does,  to  the  height  of  three  hundred  and  fifty 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  23 

feet.  Under  the  Moors  this  must  have  been  wonderfully  beautiful. 
Its  square  walls  were  then  decorated  with  elegant  designs  on  a  back- 
ground of  rose  color,  fragments  of  which  still  remain.  Then,  too,  its 
summit  was  surmounted  with  four  enormous  golden  balls,  whose  lus- 
tre was  discernible  at  a  distance  of  twenty-five  miles,  and  wh'ose  value 
was  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  But  these 
costly  ornaments  were  destroyed  by  an  earthquake  in  1395,  and  now 
the  Giralda  is  crowned  by  a  colossal  female  figure  in  bronze,  which, 
although  fourteen  feet  in  height  and  weighing  more  than  a  ton,  is 
nevertheless  so  nicely  balanced  that  it  turns  with  the  slightest  breeze. 
But  what  do  you  suppose  this  statue  represents  ?  If  you  can  believe 
it,  Faith  !  Truly  a  strange  subject  for  a  weather-vane,  never  stead- 
fast, but  blown  about  by  every  wind !  I  suspect  the  architect  was  a 
practical  joker. 

By  the  way,  speaking  of  the  Giralda,  it  is  recorded  in  the  history 
of  this  city  that,  one  day  early  in  the  Christian  era,  a  precious  statue 
of  Venus  was  being  borne  through  the  streets  of  Seville  in  a  grand 
procession,  much  as  statues  of  Jesus  and  the  Virgin  Mary  are  carried 
there  to-day.  Two  girls  recently  converted  to  Christianity  would  not 
do  it  reverence  as  it  passed,  and  consequently  were  at  once  put  to 
death  by  the  angry  multitude.  These  martyred  maidens  are  now  the 
the  patron  saints  of  Seville.  One  sees  their  pictures  everywhere. 
Tradition  says  that  in  1504,  during  a  terrific  thunder-storm,  the 
Devil  tried  to  blow  over  the  cathedral  bell-tower  in  Seville,  but  that 
these  saints  were  too  much  for  him.  They  held  it  up  with  their 
fair  hands,  and  all  that  his  Satanic  Majesty  could  do  was  to  blow  and 
be  —  disappointed.  This  miracle  is  represented  in  painting  or  sculp- 
ture in  every  church  of  Seville,  and  even  Murillo  has  consecrated  to 
the  breezy  story  one  of  his  finest  paintings. 

In  the  month  of  May  we  had  in  Seville  an  atmosphere  of 
midsummer,  yet  the  air  was  not  oppressive  with  heat.  The  top 
of  the  carriage  shielded  us  from  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun, 
and  thus  protected  we  were  in  perfect  comfort.  Moreover,  the 
streets  are  narrow,  and  are  therefore  usually  shaded  by  the  adjoin- 
ing walls. 


24  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

As  we  ride  along,  we  notice  that  all  the  buildings  are  made  of 
white  stone ;   that  awnings  screen  the  doors  and  windows  of  the 


STREET   IN   SEVILLE. 


shops ;  that  the  streets  are  clean  and  paved  with  large  flag-stones,  and 
that  all  the  ladies  are  decorated  with  flowers.  Spanish  girls,  indeed, 
always  have  a  rose  or  a  carnation  among  their  dark  locks,  arranged 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  25 

with  inimitable  grace.  To  the  right  and  left  we  look  in  through 
gates  of  prettily  wrought  iron,  and  see  charming  court-yards,  paved 
with  marble  and  surrounded  by  walls  of  colored  tiles.  In  these  we 
note  admiringly  orange  and  lemon  trees,  and  beautiful  flowers  and 
shrubs.  Sometimes  tall  evergreens,  planted  at  each  corner  of  the 
court,  are  bent  over  towards  each  other  until  their  four  tops  meet  to 
form  a  pretty  arbor,  under  which  the  family  take  breakfast  and  tea. 
In  these  Sevillian  court-yards  also  may  be  heard  in  the  evening  the 
piano,  the  guitar  and  the  Spanish  song,  to  which  the  murmur  of  a 
fountain  adds  a  gentle  accompaniment.  Now  a  sudden  turn  in  the 
street  reveals  to  us  a  little  wine-shop  which  is  said  to  have  been  once 
the  home  of  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  whom  the  novel  of  Beaumarchais 
and  the  opera  of  Eossini  have  made  immortal.  Our  carriage  can 
hardly  stop  anywhere  for  a  moment  before  it  is  surrounded  by  filthy 
beggars,  who  form  everywhere  in  Southern  Spain  an  intolerable  nuis- 
ance. The  Spaniards,  in  their  grandiloquent  form  of  speaking,  have 
for  these  wretches  a  particular  formula,  which  is  supposed  to  banish 
them  as  rapidly  as  Persian  Insect  Powder  does  the  pests  of  Spanish 
inns.  They  gravely  address  these  beggars  with  the  words  "  Perdona 
listed,  por  Dios  hermano  ! "  "  For  God's  sake,  my  brother,  let  your 
excellency  excuse  me  this  tune ! "  Guide-books  recommend  this 
phrase,  and  I  tried  it  several  tunes.  It  had  no  other  effect  than  that 
of  turning  them  from  me  to  the  ladies,  around  whom  they  crowded 
like  hungry  swine.  I  therefore  fell  back  upon  the  shorter  and  much 
more  pointed  remark  of  "  Al  Demonic  ! "  which  usually  produced  the 
desired  effect,  and  at  the  same  time  relieved  my  feelings ;  for  it  bade 
them,  in  plain  English,  to  go  to  the  Devil. 

But  turning  now  from  the  Giralda,  let  us  emerge  from  the  city 
gates  to  find  ourselves  upon  the  beautiful  promenade  along  the  Gua- 
dalquivir, whither  the  fashionable  Sevillians  invariably  resort  as  day 
declines.  It  is  a  lovely  place,  indeed.  Beside  us  flows  that  famous 
river  whose  very  name,  even  when  pronounced  in  English,  sounds 
like  a  strain  of  music,  and  on  whose  ample  breast  float  scores  of 
ships  outlining  against  the  evening  sky  their  slender  masts,  like 
leafless  trees. 


26 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


Upon  the  bank,  yet  close  upon  the  water's  edge,  you  can  perhaps 
discern  in  the  distance  an  octagonal  building  called  the  Tower  of 
Gold.  Originally  a  Moorish  structure  of  defence,  it  was  used  by  the 
Spaniards  as  the  treasure-house,  where  were  stored  the  enormous 
quantities  of  gold  brought  by  Columbus  and  other  brave  discoverers 
from  the  New  World.  Amid  the  blare  of  trumpets  and  the  mad 
shouts  of  the  exultant  populace,  the  Spanish  ships  sailed  up  this 


THE   GUADALQUIVIR  AND   THE   TOWER  OF   GOLD. 

river,  and  landed  at  the  base  of  yonder  tower  those  heaps  of  shining 
metal  which  Spain  then  fondly  deemed  exhaustless.  Doubtless  this 
brilliant  tower  was  the  last  object  which  lingered  in  the  vision  of 
Pizarro,  Cortes  and  Columbus,  as  they  departed  from  Seville;  and 
likewise  formed  the  brilliant  goal  of  their  ambition,  as,  after  years  of 
toil  and  conquest,  they  once  ascended  this  river  with  their  precious 
spoils. 

Not  far  beyond  the  Tower  of  Gold  let  us  enter  for  a  moment  the 
grounds  of  the  Duke  of  Montpensier,  whose  daughter  Mercedes  be- 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


27 


came  some  years  ago  the  Queen  of  Spain,  and  whose  untimely  death 
left  King  Alfonso  the  most  unhappy  sovereign  of  Europe.  In  some 
respects  this  Duke  of  Montpensier  may  be  called  the  foremost  man 
in  Spain.  Ever  anxious  to  introduce  improvements,  he  is  found  at 
the  head  of  every  useful  enterprise.  Here,  for  example,  —  renewing 
the  system  of  irriga- 
tion which  the  Moors 
brought  to  such  per- 
fection,— he  has  in- 
troduced into  this 
park  the  waters  of 
the  Guadalquivir,  and 
thus,  as  if  by  en- 
chantment, has  made 
of  it  a  partial  vision 
of  the  Orient. 

For  around  us 
everywhere  we  now 
behold  the  palm  — 
that  beautiful  symbol 
of  the  Orient  —  the 
tree  of  romance  and 
of  poetry — the  never- 
to-be-forgotten  feat- 
ure of  the  East.  The 
first  palm-tree  ever 
seen  in  Spain  was 
planted  at  Cordova 
by  the  noble  caliph 

Abdurrahman  the  Great,  who  desired  to  have  here  a  memorial  of  his 
much-loved  Damascus.  Truly  it  is  not  strange  that  the  palm-tree 
has  been  worshipped  by  the  children  of  the  sun ;  for  it  not  only 
shelters  them  from  the  ardent  heat,  but  gives  to  them  unasked  the 
most  nutritious  fruit,  and,  surviving  through  many  generations  like 
a  beneficent  deity,  waves  over  them  its  rustling  boughs  as  if  in  con- 
stant benediction. 


GARDEN   OF   ST.    TELHO. 


28  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

Beneath  these  palms,  however,  we  woke  to  the  realization  that 
Seville  is  not  always  civil.  The  young  Sevillians  evidently  believe 
themselves  irresistible,  or  else  have  a  very  contemptible  opinion  of 
American  ladies.  In  the  lovely  gardens  of  San  Telmo,  on  the  after- 
noon of  our  visit,  there  chanced  to  be  four  or  five  of  these  con- 
ceited youths,  whose  cheeks  were  evidently  a  battle-field  between 
the  contesting  forces  of  whiskers  and  pimples.  It  would  seem  that 
the  charms  of  the  fair  ladies  accompanying  me  completely  turned 
the  heads  of  these  budding  boys.  They  called  aloud  to  them, 
"Seiioras!  Senoritas!"  They  threw  kisses  to  them  from  distant 
terraces.  They  even  extended  toward  them  their  arms  in  theatrical 
and  frantic  gestures.  In  short,  they  played  the  roles  of  the  most 
ill-mannered  simpletons  whom  it  was  ever  my  misfortune  to  be- 
hold. 

But  now  re-entering  the  city,  let  us  turn  to  survey  one  of  the 
most  precious  monuments  of  Moorish  art  in  Spain ;  namely,  the 
Alcazar  or  Moorish  palace,  one  of  whose  decorated  court-yards  we 
here  behold.  When  the  Christians  had  driven  the  Moors  out  of 
Seville,  the  conquering  monarchs  took  up  their  residence  here.  One 
of  these,  Don  Pedro  the  Cruel,  wishing  to  embellish  and  enlarge  this 
palace,  was  too  wise  to  employ  his  own  architects  for  such  a  work, 
and  accordingly,  during  a  tune  of  peace,  sent  to  Granada  for  Moorish 
aid.  How  beautiful  are  the  results  of  their  labor!  Indeed  for 
one  who  has  not  seen  the  Alhambra  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  any- 
thing more  exquisite  than  this  Alcazar  of  Seville.  For,  thanks 
to  the  skill  and  talent  of  these  Moorish  workmen,  another  Aladdin- 
like  palace  sprang  into  existence,  almost  rivalling  the  incomparable 
Alhambra.  Here,  as  there,  one  fancies  himself  in  some  enchanted 
palace,  whose  carved  and  colored  walls  resemble  a  continuous  net- 
work of  gold  and  lace.  All  is  elegance  and  taste.  These  arches, 
not  only  rest  on  marble  columns ;  they  are  beautifully  carved  and 
perforated,  and  even  glitter  with  gilding  and  vivid  colors.  The 
doors  too  are  of  cedar- wood  inlaid  with  pearl;  around  the  walls 
we  see  a  continuous  expanse  of  the  Moorish  tiles;  and  all  this 
exquisite  work  has  been  recently  so  carefully  restored  that  it  now 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


29 


gleams   with   almost   the   same  brilliancy  and  beauty  as  when  it 
echoed  to  the  footsteps  of  the  Moors. 

This  charming  palace  possesses  also  for  every  child  of  the  New 
World  an  especial  interest;  for  it  was  here  that  Queen  Isabella 
gave  her  private  jewels  to  Columbus,  that  he  might  have  the  means 


THE  ALCAZAR   OF   SEVILLE. 

requisite  for  his  voyage  of  discovery.  In  imagination,  therefore,  as 
we  stand  here,  we  can  almost  see  the  brave-hearted  discoverer,  his 
face  kindled  with  the  glow  of  hope  regained  after  years  of  sad  defer- 
ment, kneeling  before  that  gracious  sovereign,  whose  wise  courage  and 
judicious  patronage  will  ever  remain  a  glorious  honor  to  her  memory. 


30  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

A  casket  of  jewels  does  not  seem  much  in  itself,  yet  it  sufficed  in  this 
case  to  change  the  destinies  of  two  worlds !  But  all  the  souvenirs  of 
this  splendid  Alcazar  are  by  no  means  so  attractive.  Around  it 
cluster  also  gloomy  memories  which  seem  to  have  no  fitness  for  so 
fair  a  spot.  These  marble  pavements  have  been  reddened  by  the 
blood  of  murdered  guests,  and  •  the  dreadful  deeds  of  Don  Pedro, 
whom  history  has  branded  with  the  title  of  "  the  Cruel,"  have  ren- 
dered forever  infamous  these  decorated  halls.  It  was  through  this 
very  corridor  that,  sword  in  hand,  he  pursued  his  brother  whom  he 
hated  with  jealous  fury ;  and  here  the  unhappy  victim  was  at  last 
struck  down  by  the  maces  of  the  courtiers ;  while  Don  Pedro,  coming 
up  to  where  his  brother  lay  quivering  on  the  pavement,  looked  at  him 
attentively,  and  then  drawing  his  dagger  handed  it  to  an  African 
slave  to  give  the  dying  man  his  death-blow.  This  done,  he  calmly 
re-entered  the  palace  and  sat  down  with  invited  guests  to  dinner. 

But  no  description  of  Seville  would  be  complete  without  a  men- 
tion of  that  thoroughly  Spanish  sport,  —  a  Bull-Fight.  Even  in 
these  days  of  societies  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  animals, 
bull-fighting  must  still  be  called  the  national  amusement  of  the 
Spaniards,  for  bull-fights  are  now  patronized  by  royalty  and  nobility, 
and  frequented  by  thousands  of  men,  women  and  even  children,  in 
every  large  Spanish  town. 

On  one  of  the  first  days  that  I  passed  in  Spain,  I  found  the  people 
in  a  perfect  fever  of  excitement  over  the  first  great  bull-fight  of  the 
season.  Of  course  it  took  place  on  Sunday.  All  bull-fights  do. 
The  theology  of  the  Spaniards  is  said  to  be  somewhat  as  follows: 
As  God  worked  six  days  and  rested  on  the  seventh,  so  we  will  rest 
six  days  and  on  the  seventh  go  to  the  bull-fight.  In  fact,  scarcely 
has  the  sunburnt  population  risen  from  its  knees  at  mass,  when  it 
begins  to  clamor  vociferously,  "  A  los  Toros,  A  los  Toros ! "  "  To  the 
Bulls,  To  the  Bulls!"  Our  guide,  Patriccio,  was  strangely  excited. 
"  Come  quickly,  Senor,"  he  exclaimed,  "  else  I  can  get  you  no  carriaga 
All  the  w^orld  goes  to  bull-fight  to-day.  Much  crowd.  Hurry,  hurry, 
dear  ladies ! " 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


31 


We  scampered  down  the  hotel  steps  and  seated  ourselves  in  a 
carriage  drawn  by  three  gaily  decorated  mules  harnessed  abreast. 
Crack,  crack,  crack,  went  the  coachman's  whip,  and  away  went  our 
mules  with  their  jingling  bells,  tearing  like  mad  up  and  down  the 
streets,  to  the  imminent  danger  of  ourselves  and  everybody  else ;  for 
all  the  mules  and  horses  that  day  were  going  at  full  gallop.  Soon 
we  were  out  of  the  city  gate  and  in  the  broad  avenue  leading  to  the 


A  SPANISH    HERO. 


amphitheatre.  Tranquil  enough  it  here  appears,  but  on  that  memo- 
rable Sunday  afternoon  it  was  swarming  with  people.  The  sidewalks 
were  crowded  with  excited,  noisy  pedestrians  frantic  to  get  ahead. 
They  dared  not,  however,  venture  into  the  street,  for  that  was  full 
of  vehicles.  And  such  vehicles!  Why,  it  even  surpassed  Naples. 
All  sorts  of  cabs,  carts,  omnibuses,  and  showily  painted  wagons, 
perfectly  loaded  down  with  people,  were  whirling  along  (some- 
times six  abreast)  as  if  their  drivers  held  a  direct  commission  from 
the  Devil. 


32 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


As  we  drew  near  the  walls,  Patriccio  pointed  out  to  me  some 
priests,  who  are  always  in  attendance  here  to  receive  the  confession 
or  give  the  sacrament  to  any  dying  bull-fighter.  With  this  cheerful 
hint  of  what  we  were  to  see,  we  left  our  vehicle,  which  wheeled 
about  while  the  last  one  of  us  was  still  in  the  air,  and  rattled  off 
in  quest  of  other  passengers.  Then,  guided  by  our  skilful  Patriccio, 
we  passed  within  the  vast  enclosure. 


THE   ARENA. 


The  bull  ring  is  built  after  the  style  of  an  old  Roman  amphi- 
theatre. It  is  nearly  circular  in  form.  Around  the  arena  on  the 
outside  are  great  corridors,  with  doors  opening  inwards  towards  the 
ring.  Our  seats  were  in  the  second  story.  We  therefore  ascended 
a  flight  of  stairs  and  passed  within  the  amphitheatre.  A  striking 
view  outlined  itself  before  us. 

Around  us  on  every  hand  was  an  unbroken,  beautifully  curving 
wall  about  a  hundred  feet  in  height.  Below  us  was  the  circular 
arena,  and  between  this  and  the  top  of  the  wall  was  the  most  bril- 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  33 

liant  spectacle  imaginable.    In  the  balconies  and  boxes  were  gathered 
no  less  than  fifteen  thousand  people  ! 

Part  of  these  were  of  course  seated  in  the  shade,  and  part  in  the 
sun,  as  the  amphitheatre  is  entirely  open  to  the  sky.  The  contrast 
between  sunlight  and  shadow  was  most  beautiful;  for  where  the 
sunlight  fell,  six  thousand  brightly  painted  fans  glittered  with  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow ;  while  in  the  shade  the  toilettes  of  the  Spanish 
ladies,  with  their  lovely  black  or  white  lace  mantillas,  were  distinctly 
visible.  It  was  one  of  those  sights  that  for  an  instant  make  the 
heart  beat  almost  to  suffocation  and  cause  one  to  catch  his  breath. 

The  murmur  of  thousands  of  voices,  the  cries  of  the  venders  of 
oranges  and  fresh  water,  and  the  cheers  of  eager  spectators,  as  dif- 
ferent movements  were  made  preparatory  to  the  combat,  all  formed 
a  confused  roar,  comparable  to  nothing  I  ever  heard  before.  At 
length  there  came  a  shrill  blast  of  trumpets,  the  signal  for  the  arena 
to  be  cleared  of  all  its  lingering  occupants.  In  a  few  moments  the 
last  man  had  left  the  enclosure.  The  arena  was  empty.  Another 
nourish  of  trumpets,  and  in  through  one  of  the  principal  entrances 
marched  the  future  actors  in  the  bloody  drama.  At  the  head 
came  the  Picadors,  two  men  on  horseback  with  lance  in  hand,  and 
dressed  in  brilliant  colors.  Next  came  the  Chulos,  bearing  on 
their  arms  the  scarlet  cloaks  with  which  it  would  be  their  duty 
to  enfuriate  the  bull.  These  were  followed  by  four  or  five  Bande- 
rilleros,  who  were  to  act  in  a  way  which  I  shall  presently  describe. 
Last  of  all  appeared,  in  the  place  of  honor,  the  Matadors,  who  finally 
give  the  bull  his  death-blow.  The  costumes  of  these  men  are  most 
peculiar.  All  except  the  Picadors  wear  short  breeches,  silk  stockings, 
and  vests  and  jackets  embroidered  with  silver  and  gold.  Moreover, 
their  hair  is  very  long  and  is  done  up  in  a  tight  twist  behind.  After 
the  procession  had  crossed  the  arena,  it  halted  in  the  manner  of  the 
old  Koman  gladiators  before  the  royal  box  and  made  a  salutation ; 
then  it  completed  the  circuit  of  the  ring;  the  matadors  retiring  a 
little  from  the  arena,  but  the  others  taking  various  positions  about 
the  wall.  Two  officers  dressed  in  black  and  with  long  nodding 
plumes  in  their  hats  now  rode  in,  and  halting  before  the  royal  box 

3 


34 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


asked  permission  of  the  governor  of  the  spectacle  to  admit  the  bull. 
The  governor  threw  to  them  the  key  of  the  den  where  the  bull  was 
confined,  and  riding  rapidly  across  the  arena  the  officers  handed  this 
to  the  keeper  of  the  gate.  A  moment  of  breathless  suspense  fol- 
lowed, during  which  the  officers  disappeared.  Not  a  sound  was 
audible.  Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  gateway.  Fifteen  thousand 
hearts  were  beating  with  excitement.  As  for  myself,  I  confess  it 
was  one  of  the  most  intensely  exciting  moments  of  my  life.  I  cannot 
well  account  for  it ;  but  the  vast  multitude  around  me,  the  thought 
that  I  was  actually  in  Spam  and  about  to  witness  its  great  national 
sport,  the  dread  that  I  had  of  its  bloody  characteristics,  and  then, 
too,  the  fact  that  three  ladies  were  with  me,  who  might  possibly 
faint  on  my  hands  —  all  these  combined  to  agitate  me  greatly. 

At  length,  almost  before  I  was  prepared  for  it,  the  gate  swung 
open  and  a  huge  iron-gray  bull  rushed  forth  from  a  perfectly  dark 
den  into  the  arena.  For  a  moment,  astonished  and  dazzled  by  the 


THE    CHULOS. 


spectacle  around  him,  and  startled  by  the  yells  of  thousands  of 
voices,  he  halted,  his  nostrils  quivering.  Then  catching  sight  of 
the  Chulos,  who  at  a  safe  distance  were  waving  their  red  cloaks  at 
him,  he  lowered  his  head  and  dashed  at  them  with  fury.  Nimble 
as  squirrels,  these  men  leaped  lightly  over  the  railing  of  the  arena 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


35 


into  a  circular  space  beyond,  and  the  bull  stopped  with  a  violent 
shock  within  a  foot  of  their  retreating  heels.  With  a  snort  that 
denoted  mischief  the  bull  glared  around  him.  Twenty  feet  away 


THE    PICADOR. 


was  a  Picador  on  horseback.  Straight  at  him  the  bull  now  went. 
The  horse,  whose  eyes  were  blinded  by  a  cloth,  obedient  to  his 
rider's  spur  wheeled  to  one  side,  and  the  Picador  pressed  his  lance 
into  the  bull's  shoulder  as  he  passed ;  inflicting  only  a  slight  wound, 
however,  for  the  iron  on  the  lance  is  purposely  made  very  short.  The 
bull  turned  savagely  about  and,  irritated  by  the  cut,  charged  once  more 
upon  the  horse.  Horrible,  most  horrible  !  This  time  the  Picador 
could  do  nothing,  and  both  horns  plunged  to  the  very  hilt  into  the 
horse's  side.  Ten  thousand  voices  greeted  this  with  yells  of  approval. 
"  Bravo,  Toro !  Bravo,  Toro  ! "  resounded  in  deafening  shouts  from 
all  parts  of  the  arena.  This  was  bad  enough,  but  I  felt  almost  faint, 
when  I  saw  the  bull  actually  shake  his  head  up  and  down,  until  by 
his  enormous  strength  he  lifted  both  horse  and  rider  from  the  ground 
and  rolled  them  over  in  the  dust.  All  was  now  a  frenzy  of  excite- 


36  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

ment.  The  bull  drew  out  his  dripping  horns  and  prepared  for  a  new 
charge.  If  he  made  it,  it  would  be  all  over  with  the  Picador.  But 
now  the  Chulos  came  to  the  rescue.  Three  or  four  flaunted  their 
cloaks  in  his  face  and  drew  his  attention  to  themselves.  As  he 
advanced,  however,  these  agile  men  slipped  aside  and  the  bull  struck 
only  the  cloaks  which  passed  lightly  over  his  head.  While  this  was 
being  done,  other  men  had  assisted  the  fallen  Picador  to  get  upon 
his  feet.  He  could  not  have  risen  without  aid;  for  besides  being 
bruised  by  his  fall,  his  legs  were  encased  in  iron  plates  of  great 
weight,  made  to  resist  the  bull's  horns. 

As  for  the  poor  horse,  he  was  left  to  die  in  agony,  writhing  upon 
the  sand,  while  his  life-blood  poured  out  in  streams,  as  he  struggled 
impotently  to  rise.  But  by  this  time  the  bull  had  charged  in  fury 
upon  the  other  Picador.  Almost  the  same  scene  was  now  repeated, 
save  that  the  bull  succeeded  in  plunging  only  one  horn  in  the  horse's 
side.  Therefore,  for  tho  next  five  or  ten  minutes,  this  wretched 
animal  actually  galloped  about  the  arena,  urged  hither  and  thither 
by  his  rider,  while  his  entrails  were  dragging  around  his  heels  and 
the  blood  was  gushing  forth  in  copious  jets  !  I  need  hardly  say 
that  the  ladies  of  my  party  shielded  their  eyes  from  this  horrible 
sight.  A  German  lady  near  me  wept.  But  the  fair  Spaniards 
seemed  to  think  of  nothing  but  the  men  and  the  bull. 

The  second  horse  also  soon  dropped  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and 
as  new  Picadors  came  in,  the  bull  within  fifteen  minutes  had  killed 
three  horses  outright  and  horribly  wounded  a  fourth  ! 

He  presently  stopped  as  if  exhausted.  The  practised  eye  of  the 
governor  detected  now  the  moment  for  a  change  of  tactics.  He  gave 
a  signal,  which  was  followed  by  a  blast  from  the  trumpets.  The 
Picadors  at  once  withdrew  from  the  arena,  much  to  our  relief,  although 
the  weltering  corpses  of  three  horses  still  lay  upon  the  sand.  The 
Chulos  now  came  prominently  forward  to  take  a  more  decided  part 
in  the  contest  than  they  had  previously  assumed,  and  to  perform 
some  of  their  most  daring  feats,  one  of  which  we  here  behold, 
namely,  that  of  jumping  over  the  head  of  the  charging  bull,  and 
giving  him  a  love-pat  on  the  neck  with  the  foot  in  passing ! 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


37 


This  they  never  would  have  dared  to  do  when  the  bull  was 
fresh ;  but  now  fatigue  rendered  his  charges  shorter  and  more  easily 
avoided.  Do  you  wonder  that  he  was  wearied  ?  Up  to  this  time 
his  exertions  had  been  tremendous.  The  perspiration  glistened  on 
his  panting  sides,  while  blood  coated  both  shoulders  with  a  crimson 
mantle,  proving  that  the  lances  of  the  Picadors  had  done  their 
work. 


LEAP   FOB-  LIFE. 


But  a  still  more  daring  deed  than  this  was  seen,  when  a  Chulo 
actually  ventured  to  leap  over  the  charging  bull  by  means  of  a  vault- 
ing-pole. Think  of  the  skill  and  coolness  required  to  leap  thus  at 
the  right  moment !  For  if  he  rises  too  quickly,  the  bull  has  an  op- 
portunity to  halt  in  time  to  receive  him  on  his  uplifted  horns.  In 
any  case  the  pole  is  almost  certain  to  be  knocked  from  under  him, 
and  the  man  must  see  to  it  that  he  alights  upon  his  feet,  or  he  will 
be  speedily  despatched. 

But  perhaps  you  ask,  "  What  can  induce  men  to  adopt  such  a 
foolhardy  business  as  this  ? "  Yet  think  for  a  moment  of  the  fame 


38  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

they  thus  acquire.  Their  names  are  household  words  in  Spain,  and 
they  themselves  are  looked  upon  as  demigods.  Then,  too,  aside  from 
their  magnificent  toilettes  of  silk  and  satin  glittering  with  gems,  their 
salaries  are  enormous.  The  chief  Matador,  whose  duty  it  is  on  a 
Sunday  afternoon  to  kill  only  two  bulls,  usually  receives  for  this 
task  about  three  hundred  dollars  every  Sunday.  The  men  below 
him  also  are  paid  in  proportion  to  the  risk  they  run ;  and  as  these 
Torreadors  are  engaged  for  months  ahead  in  the  various  amphi- 
theatres, you  can  easily  see  that  in  Spain  it  is  more  profitable  to 
kill  bulls  on  Sunday,  than  in  America  to  preach  sermons  ! 

But,  after  this  sport  had  gone  on  for  some  time,  a  signal  was 
given  for  a  new  change  of  tactics ;  and  the  Banderille'ros  made  their 

appearance  to  exhibit  feats  of 
even  greater  daring  and  adroit- 
ness. One  after  another  placed 
himself,  as  you  here  observe,  be- 
fore the  bull,  and  goaded  him  to 
madness  by  shaking  in  his  face 
two  colored  wands,  on  the  extrem- 
ities of  which  were  twisted  barbs. 
When  the  angry  animal  made  a 

THE   BANDERILLEBO. 

dash  at  his  tormentor,  the  critical 
moment  came.  The  Banderillero 

waited  until  the  head  of  the  charging  beast  was  within  his  grasp, 
and  then,  reaching  between  the  advancing  horns,  thrust  the  colored 
shafts  into  the  shoulders  of  the  bull !  There  was  a  horrible  fasci- 
nation in  this  spectacle,  for  it  was  done  just  as  the  bull  lowered 
his  head  to  toss  his  enemy  to  the  sky.  At  one  moment  the  man 
seemed  doomed  to  instant  death.  The  next  we  saw  him  leap  lightly 
aside,  while  the  baffled  bull  fairly  bounded  up  and  down  under  the 
stab  of  the  two  darts,  which  remained  fixed  in  his  bleeding  neck. 
Another  Banderillero  now  took  his  position  before  the  bull,  and  the 
same  exciting  scene  again  took  place,  until,  by  a  succession  of  such 
performances,  the  wearied  and  tormented  animal  bore  many  of  these 
pointed  shafts,  which  he  in  vain  attempted  to  shake  out  of  his  flesh. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


39 


Another  flourish  of  trumpets  gave  now  the  signal  for  the  closing 
scene. 

The  Matador  entered  the,  arena,  and,  being  a  special  favorite  with 
the  public,  was  received  with  exultant  cheers.     With  slow  and  digni- 

O 

fied  step  this  admired  hero  and  pet  of  the  ladies  advanced  to  the 
royal  box,  and  asked  permission  to  kill  the  bull  in  a  way  that  should 


THE    MATADOR. 


do  honor  to  all  Spain.  This  being  granted,  he  turned  about  and 
faced  the  bull.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  small  red  cloak,  in  the 
other  a  strong  Toledo  sword. 

Advancing  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  bull,  he  irritated  him  a 
little  with  the  cloak,  and  pretended  to  make  a  few  passes,  in  order  to 
study  his  wiles.  If  it  be  a  bold  bull  which  he  thus  tries,  there  is 
little  danger,  for  such  an  one  usually  shuts  his  eyes  and  madly 
rushes  ahead;  but  the  sly  bulls  —  those  which  advance  and  then 


40  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

retreat,  and  seek  to  outwit  their  antagonists  —  require  close  atten- 
tion. A  skilful  Matador,  however,  can  always  choose  the  place 
where  he  will  lure  the  bull,  and  finally  kill  him ;  and  if  the  Mata- 
dor's lady-love  be  in  the  amphitheatre,  depend  upon  it,  it  is  always 
at  the  point  of  the  arena  nearest  her  that  the  bull  will  die. 

At  length  the  bull  made  a  grand  rush  forward.  This  was  what 
the  Matador  desired.  Instead  of  leaping  aside,  he  planted  his  feet 
firmly,  and  actually  met  the  monster  upon  the  point  of  his  sword. 
But  in  his  thrust  consummate  skill  was  shown.  It  was  no  ordi- 
nary thrust.  It  is  considered  a  disgrace  to  stab  a  bull  anywhere 
except  just  at  the  point  of  union  between  the  neck  and  shoulders. 
In  this  case  the  hand  of  the  Matador  was  firm  and  his  eye  sure,  for 
the  sword  was  buried  to  the  hilt  in  the  precise  spot  required ;  and 
while  the  victor  whirled  to  one  side  and  bowed  to  the  audience,  the 
bull  halted,  staggered  a  few  steps,  and  fell.  It  was  a  brave  bull, 
however,  for  he  refused  to  die  without  one  more  effort.  It  was 
indeed  a  melancholy  sight  to  see  him  rise  again,  drop  on  his  knees, 
and  give  one  last  brave  toss  of  his  great  head.  Then  all  that  a 
moment  before  was  fire,  passion  and  life,  fell  in  an  instant  —  dead  — 
forever ! 

Thunders  of  applause  greeted  this  denouement  of  the  tragedy,  and 
the  gorgeously  dressed  Matador  quitted  the  amphitheatre,  bowing  to 
the  right  and  left,  and  evidently  feeling  himself  to  be  upon  the  pin- 
nacle of  glory. 

In  three  minutes  the  bodies  of  the  dead  bull  and  horses  had 
been  removed  from  the  arena  by  a  train  of  mules  with  tinkling  bells, 
and  all  was  ready  for  a  new  combat ;  for  a  Sunday  afternoon  bull- 
fight in  Spain  comprises  six  distinct  tournaments  such  as  I  have 
described ;  or  if  the  day  be  a  particularly  sacred  one,  seven  bulls  are 
sacrificed  to  the  populace.  The  sport  is  not  so  monotonous  as  you 
might  imagine,  for  one  bull  differeth  from  another  bull  in  glory; 
though  as  a  rule  they  are  all  fierce  and  courageous,  and  kill  from 
three  to  six  horses  each. 

We  had,  however,  the  somewhat  exceptional  fortune  to  see  during 
the  afternoon  one  cowardly  bull.  It  was  the  second  one  to  enter  the 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  41 

arena.  Instead  of  charging  directly  on  the  Chulos  and  Picadors,  this 
timid  animal  ran  around  the  ring  seeking  some  way  of  escape. 
Observing  this,  the  Picadors  rode  directly  up  to  him  and  pricked  him 
with  their  lances.  Even  then  the  bull  would  not  actually  fight, 
but  merely  pretended  to  charge  upon  the  horses,  turning  away  at  the 
last  moment  without  giving  the  fatal  thrust.  Then  arose  a  perfect 
storm  of  yells,  screams  and  derisive  shouts.  So  great,  was  the  noise 
that  it  was  impossible  to  make  ourselves  heard  by  each  other,  save 
by  calling  as  loudly  as  possible  close  to  the  ear. 

Oranges  were  hurled  by  the  score  from  the  audience  at  the  un- 
lucky bull.     "  Put  him  out ! "  "  Out  with  him ! "  was  the  verdict  of 


DEATH   IN   THE   ARENA. 


the  fifteen  thousand  spectators.  At  length  this  was  seen  to  be  a 
necessity.  Chulos  and  Banderillos  could  not  exasperate  him  to  a 
charge,  and  therefore  he  was  ignominiously  rejected.  A  gate  opened, 
and  six  or  eight  tame  steers  were  allowed  to  enter  the  arena.  The 
coward  immediately  joined  them,  when  they  were  all  driven  out  to- 
gether, and  in  a  moment  the  ring  was  ready  for  the  third  bull. 

But  do  fatal  accidents  never  occur  in  these  encounters?  Not 
often,  strange  to  say.  Yet  let  us  look  now  on  an  admirable  Spanish 
work  of  art,  representing  a  Matador  dying  in  the  arena.  It  reminds 


42  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

me  that,  as  I  was  observing  Frascuelo,  —  (the  greatest  of  all  living 
Matadors,  the  pet  of  Queen  Isabella  and  the  present  king,  —  a  man 
who  wears  diamond  shirt  studs  and  a  pearl-embroidered  jacket  in  the 
arena),  —  Patriccio  said  to  me :  "  I  have  often  seen  Frascuelo  in  dan- 
ger, but  never  so  close  to  death  as  a  few  years  ago,  when,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  plunge  his  sword  into  the  bull,  the  cunning  animal,  by 
an  unusual  toss  of  his  head,  jerked  the  weapon  out  of  the  man's 
hand.  Disdaining  to  run,  the  Matador  stood  his  ground.  On  came 
the  bull,  and  catching  the  man  upon  one  horn  held  him  there  for  five 
minutes,  despite  all  the  efforts  of  the  Chulos  to  free  him.  At  last  he 
flung  him  into  the  air.  Everybody  of  course  expected  to  see  him 
fall  a  mangled  corpse.  Instead  of  that,  the  Matador  arose  and 
assured  the  audience  that  the  bull  had  not  harmed  him  in  the  least. 
The  horn  had  slipped  between  his  girdle  and  his  shirt !  " 

"  Did  he  afterwards  kiU  the  bull  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  Seflor ! "  was  the  reply,  "  I  never  saw  a  bull  killed  so  beauti- 
fully !  You  see,  Frascuelo  was  so  mad,  that  he  thrust  his  sword 
in  to  the  very  hilt,  and  held  it  there  till  hand  and  arm  were  crim- 
soned." 

But  from  Seville  and  its  bull-fights  we  now  turn  impatiently  to 
Granada,  the  Mecca  of  our  Spanish  pilgrimage.  In  the  southern  part 
of  the  Spanish  peninsular  lies  an  enchanting  plain  some  thirty  miles 
in  length  and  bordered  by  mountains  in  every  direction.  Believe 
me,  the  whole  of  Europe  has  no  finer  sight  than  this  Granadan  plain, 
green  as  the  richest  moss,  and  ornamented  here  and  there,  like  Ori- 
ental pearls,  with  white-walled  villages  and  towers.  At  one  end  of 
this  unrivalled  valley  gleams,  in  the  vivid  sunlight,  the  birthplace 
of  ex-Empress  Eugenie  of  France,  —  the  little  city  of  Granada, 
whose  name,  some  say,  is  derived  from  the  grauates  or  pomegranates 
which  flourish  there  now,  as  they  did  seven  centuries  ago,  when 
this  was  the  Moorish  Paradise.  It  is  still  one  of  the  largest  cities 
of  Spain,  although  its  population  is  but  seventy-five  thousand  as 
contrasted  with  four  hundred  thousand  in  the  time  of  the  Moors. 
Above  the  town  itself  rises  abruptly  a  steep  hill  not  unlike  the 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


43 


Acropolis  of   Athens,  crowned  by  the  old  palatial  fortress  of   the 
Moors,  —  the  favorite  home  of  Moorish  Caliphs,  their  chosen  bower 
of  Oriental  delights,  where  life  passed  away  like  a  happy  dream,  — 
the  world-renowned  ALHAMBKA  !     The  name  "  Alhambra  "  appropri- 
ately  signifies   "Bed  Castle;"  for   its  walls   and   towers,  emerging 


THE   ALHAMBEA. 

from  an  ocean  of  green  foliage  at  their  base,  glow  with  a  beautiful 
vermilion  tint,  so  different  from  the  blackness  with  which  the  hand 
of  Time  too  frequently  enshrouds  the  ancient  edifices  of  the  North. 

The  ascent  to  the  Alhambra  is  easy.     Broad  avenues,  often  com- 
pletely embowered  in  the  shade  of  giant  elms,  lead  the  way  upward 


44 


i;i:n-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


in  gradual  curves  over  finely  graded  terraces.  There  are  certain 
glorious  sensations  in  the  life  of  every  enthusiastic  traveller,  which 
in  a  moment  repay  him  for  weeks  of  absence,  privation,  and  fatigue. 
No  amount  of  travel  can  take  anything  from  the  thrill  of  emotion 
with  which  one  first  beholds  certain  historic  sites.  Such  a  spot  is  the 
Alhambra,  —  a  gem  dimmed  and  flawed  by  the  rude  grasp  of  many 
conquerors,  but  still  so  incomparably  beautiful  as  to  draw  to  itself 
admirers  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  As  I  rode  up  this  steep 
ascent  and  rapidly  approached  its  storied  courts,  I  felt  as  I  did 
when  gliding  into  Venice,  or  entering  imperial  Eome,  or  when  my 
gaze  first  rested  on  the  gilded  domes  of  Moscow,  or  my  feet  trod 
the  rough  pavement  of  Jerusalem.  Nor  is  the  charm  here  purely 
one  of  history;  for  over  these  terraces  on  which  we  ride  stream 
numerous  cascades,  in  channels  framed  with  ivy  leaves  and  verdant 
moss.  In  fact,  the  music  of  fountains,  or  cascades  unlocked  from 
the  mountain  fastnesses  above,  is  sure  to  greet  us  here  at  every  turn. 

Moreover,  I  found  the  air  as 
soft  and  mild  as  in  Greece  or 
Egypt;  while  the  delicious 
perfume  of  orange-flowers  and 
roses,  which  lined  the  walls 
at  frequent  intervals,  made 
breathing  a  luxury  and  mere 
existence  a  delight.  Do  not 
call  this  rhetoric  and  exagger- 
ation. I  assure  you  it  is 
only  literal  truth.  Would  to 
Heaven  that  my  words  could 
do  justice  to  this  most  enchant- 
ing of  historic  spots ! 

But  at  length  reaching  the 
terminus  of  these   curving 

TOWER   OF   JTSTK  K. 

driveways,  we  see  before  us 

a  large  square  tower  of  imposing  aspect,  the  principal  entrance  to 
the  Granadan  Acropolis.  It  bore  the  name  of  the  Tower  of  Justice, 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  45 

because  at  this  gate  formerly  sat  the  Moorish  sovereign  to  dispense 
justice  to  his  subjects,  —  a  custom  always  common  in  the  East,  and 
one  which  is  mentioned  repeatedly  in  the  Hebrew  scriptures.  An 
inscription  over  the  doorway  reads :  "  May  the  Almighty  make  this 
portal  a  protecting  bulwark,  and  write  down  its  erection  among  the 
imperishable  actions  of  the  just!" 

Beneath  the  arch  is  an  altar  consecrated  to  the  Virgin.  And  it 
was  before  this  that  the  first  mass  was  said  after  the  conquest  of 
Granada,  while  the  Moors,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  were  traversing 
the  mountains  on  their  way  to  Africa. 

But  hastening  through  this  massive  portal,  let  us  enter  the  Al- 
hambra  itself.  At  once,  as  though  by  the  magician's  spell,  we  seem 


THE   COURT   OF   THE   MYRTLES. 

to  have  passed  from  Europe  into  Asia !  We  stand  within  the  Court 
of  the  Myrtles.  The  blue  dome  of  the  sky  is  above  us,  and  beneath 
are  broad  marble  slabs,  whose  spotless  whiteness  was  nevertheless 
once  shamed  by  the  snowy  feet  of  the  fair  Sultanas  who  lightly  trod 
them;  for  this  was  the  bathing-place  of  the  wives  of  the  Caliph. 
In  the  centre  is  still  the  immense  marble  basin  of  water,  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  feet  long  and  thirty  wide,  now  tenanted  by  gold-fish 
and  surrounded  by  hedges  of  myrtle  and  orange  trees,  whose  golden 
fruit  glistens  among  the  leaves. 

But  this  is  the  mere  threshold  or  anteroom  of  that  famous  palace 
whose  perfection  has  rendered  it  the  marvel  of  the  world. 


46 


RED-LETT  1. 1!    l>\  VS  ABROAD. 


From  this,  therefore,  let  us  now  ascend  one  or  two  marble  steps  to 
enter  the  Hall  of  the  Ambassadors.  How  is  it  possible  for  me  to 
describe  this  room,  in  which  nevertheless  I  lingered  hour  after  hour 
during  those  bright  May  days  ?  Surrounding  us  are  nine  of  these 
windows,  piercing  the  thick  Alhambra  walls.  Their  exquisitely  chis- 
elled arches  seem  as  unsubstantial  as  frostwork ;  while  so  glorious  is 
the  view  which  they  command,  that  at  one  of  them  Charles  V.  is  said 
to  have  exclaimed,  sighing  in  pity  for  the  exiled  Moor,  "  Unhappy 
the  man  who  lost  all  this ! "  As  for  the  decoration  of  these  walls,  all 

I  could  think  of,  as  I  be- 
held them  outlined  against 
the  azure  of  the  Spanish 
sky  seen  through  these 
windows,  was  a  gorgeous 
mantle  of  finely  woven, 
cream-colored  lace,  sus- 
pended near  a  robe  of  light 
blue  silk.  For,  indeed,  all 
the  designs  of  the  celebra- 
ted Spanish  lace  sold  at 
Granada  are  copied  from 
the  walls  of  the  Alhambra. 
In  the  time  of  the  Caliphs 
this  was  the  grand  recep- 
tion room  of  the  palace. 

HALL   OF  THE   AMBASSADORS.  Its    fl°°r  Was    of    pure    ala- 

baster,   and   an    alabaster 

fountain  stood  in  the  centre.  It  was  here  also  that  Washington 
Irving  loved  especially  to  read  and  write ;  and  I  can  testify  that  the 
swallows,  which  he  described  as  twittering  about  the  historic  hall, 
still  dart  in  and  out  through  the  marble  arches,  and  rest  upon  the 
cedar-wood  lattices  in  the  high  wall,  through  which  doubtless,  many 
a  fair  Sultana  has  often  gazed,  quite  unobserved,  at  the  festivities 
below. 

But  still  better  to  comprehend  the  beauty  of  the  walls  of  the 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


47 


Alhambra,  let  us  examine  a  smaller  portion  of  their  decoration.  We 
see  at  once  that  stucco  tapestry  expands  into  intricate  designs  of 
gossamer  fretwork,  which,  when  colored  and  gilded  in  the  tune  of  the 
Moors,  must  have  made  of  this  a  veritable  Aladdin's  palace. 

In  truth,  everything 
in  the  Alhambra  seems 
like  a  fairy  tale.  Look, 
for  example,  at  these 
walls.  You  fancy  them 
covered  with  beautiful, 
but  meaningless  o  r  n  a- 
mentation.  Not  so.  Ex- 
amine them  more  care- 
fully, and  we  see  not 
only  leaves  and  flowers 
budding  and  blossoming 
round  us  in  frost-like  tra- 
cery, but  everywhere,  in- 
terwoven with  the  vines 
and  flowers,  are  Arabic 
inscriptions,  meaning: 
"  Blessing,"  "  Welcome," 
"God  is  our  refuge," 
"  Praise  be  to  God,"  and, 
above  all,  the  motto, 

"There  is  no  conqueror  but  God," — words  which  the  Moorish  chief- 
tain answered  to  his  subjects,  when  they  came  forth  to  meet  him 
returning  victorious  to  Granada.  In  fact,  these  walls,  which  were 
destroyed  by  the  priests  as  being  pagan,  are  really  poems  proclaiming 
the  goodness  and  greatness  of  God,  and  forever  wedded  to  the  silent 
music  of  architecture ! 

But  if  now  we  turn  from  the  Hall  of  the  Ambassadors,  we  shall 
discover,  to  our  infinite  regret,  that  all  parts  of  the  Alhambra  are  not 
so  well  preserved  as  those  which  we  have  seen.  Through  its  rude 
treatment  from  the  hands  of  man,  it  has  been  necessary  to  support 


MOORISH   DECORATION. 


48  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

this  fragile  colonnade  with  iron  bars.  These  walls  also,  which  here 
appear  so  bare  and  cheerless,  were  once  as  exquisitely  decorated  as 
those  which  we  have  just  admired.  They  have  been  "purified"  by 
the  whitewash  brush  of  Isabella's  monks !  You  can  still  discern, 
however,  cut  in  the  marble  steps,  a  narrow  channel,  down  which  in 


DESECRATION   OF   THE   ALHAMBRA. 

ancient  times  the  water  of  a  fountain  ran.  For,  remember,  every 
room  in  this  palace  had  its  marble  fountain ;  and  throughout  almost 
every  corridor  flowed  thus  a  stream  of  crystal  water,  connecting  one 
fountain  with  another,  while  filling  the  air  with  freshness  and  the 
perpetual  cadence  of  a  song. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  49 

But  let  us  take  a  step  or  two  to  the  left  and  look  directly  into 
this  apartment,  beneath  the  fretwork  of  its  graceful  arches.  It  is 
poetically  called  the  "  Hall  of  the  Two  Sisters,"  —  not,  as  you  might 
imagine,  from  any  romantic  story  of  two  Princesses,  but  because  in 
the  pavement  there  are  two  exactly  similar  marble  slabs,  of  equal 
purity  and  beauty.  In  the  distance  you  can  discern  two  windows 
at  the  end  of  the  hall.  They  look  out  upon  the  garden  of  the 
Moorish  Queen,  and  as  I  have  sat  beside  them,  enjoying  Irving's 
charming  Tales  of  the  Alhambra,  I  have  seen  beneath  me  in  that 
garden  the  old  alabaster  fountain,  which  still  pours  forth  its  silver 
spray,  just  as  it  did  when  its  crystal  mirror  grew  lovelier  from  the 
reflected  features  of  some  fair  Sultana. 

Standing  at  one  of  those  windows,  one  sees  to  fine  advantage 
the  hill  which  rises  opposite  to  the  Alhambra.  It  is  thickly  covered 
with  trees  and  bushes,  among  which  are  innumerable  caverns  cut  in 
the  solid  rock.  These  are  the  homes  of  the  famous  Spanish  gipsies, 
who  are  chiefly  found  in  Andalusia.  It  would  seem  that  the  sun  of 
Southern  Spain,  which  has  an  almost  Oriental  splendor,  allures  these 
gipsies  hither  from  their  native  land ;  for  undoubtedly  they  are  of 
Eastern  origin.  Until  within  a  few  years,  they  have  been  unruly 
members  of  society,  setting  at  defiance  both  laws  and  police;  but 
now  they  are  held  to  a  strict  account  for  their  deeds  and  are  also 
liable  to  military  service.  On  approaching  one  of  their  hillside 
caverns,  a  gipsy  woman  will  bring  forth  to  us  from  a  squalid  room 
a  cup  of  coffee,  for  which  we  must  pay  liberally,  or  else  be  exposed 
to  great  annoyance.  The  men  among  these  gipsies  are  for  the  most 
part  horse-traders  and  blacksmiths  ;  the  women  make  their  fortunes 
by  pretending  to  tell  those  of  others  and  by  selling  fancy  articles ; 
while  I  hardly  need  add  that  men,  women,  and  children  are  all  the 
expertest  kind  of  thieves.  In  fact,  while  now  we  glance  at  another 
of  these  gipsies,  whom  I  met  daily  in  my  walks  about  the  Alhambra, 
let  me  relate  a  story  which  illustrates  their  cleverness.  Some  time 
ago  a  gipsy,  who  had  been  converted  to  Christianity,  was  con- 
fessing his  sins  to  a  priest,  when  he  spied  in  the  monk's  pocket 
a  silver  snuff-box,  and  immediately  stole  it.  "Father,"  he  added 

4 


50 


II ED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


sorrowfully,  "I  also  accuse  myself  of  having  stolen  a  silver  snuff- 
box." 

"  Alas !  my  son,"  said  the  good  priest,  "  that  is  a  grievous  fault. 

You    must    immediately   re- 
store it." 

"  But,  Father,  will  you 
not  take  it  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Certainly  not,"  cried 
the  priest  emphatically ;  "I 
am  not  a  receiver  of  stolen 
goods." 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  said 
the  gipsy,  "  I  have  already 
offered  it  to  its  owner,  but  he 
will  not  take  it." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the 
father,  "  you  can  keep  it  with 
a  clear  conscience." 

And  keep  it  the  gipsy 
did! 

But  this  is  a  digression, 
caused  by  a  view  of  the  gipsy 
huts  from  the  Alhambra  win- 
dows. Let  us  then  once  more 
enter  the  Moorish  palace  to 
see  its  masterpiece  and  great- 
est marvel,  the  famous  "  Court 
of  the  Lions."  Here  in  the 
very  centre  of  the  palace,  and 
surrounded  by  the  rooms 
which  we  have  thus  far  seen, 
is  a  spacious  courtyard,  once 

paved  with  blocks  of  snow-white  marble,  fragments  of  which  re- 
main. Around  it  on  each  side  are  galleries,  which  are  simple 
marvels  of  elegance,  supported  as  they  are  by  no  less  than  one 


A  SPANISH   GIPSY. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  51 

hundred  and  twenty-four  marble  columns,  so  slender  and  delicate 
that  they  scarcely  seem  able  to  bear  even  the  fairy-like  arches 
which  rest  upon  them.  These  columns  were  once  entirely  covered 
with  gold,  but  after  the  fall  of  Granada,  instead  of  repairing  them,  it 
was  found  much  more  simple  and  profitable  to  scrape  off  all  their 


THE   COURT   OF   THE   L10XS. 


gilded  ornaments.  As  some  one  has  well  asked,  can  we  not  here 
detect  a  trace  of  the  former  wandering  habits  of  the  Moors?  In 
changing  their  nomadic  for  a  settled  life  in  Spain,  did  they  not 
imitate  in  their  architecture  the  luxurious  shawls  and  hangings  of 
their  former  dwellings,  —  erecting,  instead  of  a  tent  pole,  a  slender 


52  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

marble  column  and  covering  their  walls  with  colors  and  gilding  in 
place  of  the  silken  tissues  of  Damascus  ? 

I  can  truly  say  that  I  found  the  Alhambra  to  be  a  marvel,  sur- 
passing all  my  expectations,  exalted  though  they  were.  Yet  if  I  had 
anticipated  immense  proportions  and  massive  Gothic  pillars,  I  should 
have  been  disappointed.  Moorish  art  has  its  own  distinctive  char- 
acter and  conditions,  and  within  them  it  is  unrivalled.  Moreover, 
we  must  remember  that  the  Alhambra  was  a  Southern  palace,  whose 
architecture,  unlike  the  Gothic  forest  of  the  North,  resembles  rather 
an  Oriental  flower,  glowing  with  all  the  vivid  colors  and  redolent  with 
the  sweet  perfumes  of  Asia. 

In  the  centre  of  this  Court  of  the  Lions  stands  its  crowning 
beauty,  —  like  a  precious  stone  mounted  in  a  most  brilliant  setting. 
It  is  an  alabaster  fountain,  the  spray  from  which  once  fell  almost 
within  the  galleries  themselves. 

The  basin  of  this  fountain  is  one  solid  piece  of  alabaster  ten 
and  a  half  feet  in  diameter,  resting  on  twelve  strangely  sculptured 
lions,  which  give  its  name  to  the  court  itself.  Around  its  edge  is  an 
Arabic  inscription,  on  which  the  eyes  of  many  a  Moorish  Caliph  and 
Sultana  must  have  often  rested.  A  portion  of  it  reads  as  follows : 
"Look  at  this  solid  mass  of  pearl  spreading  through  the  air  its 
prismatic  shower  !  One  might  imagine  it  to  be  a  block  of  glistening 
ice,  with  crystal  water  melting  from  it."  While  its  concluding 
words  doubtless  express  the  nnuttered  prayer  of  every  visitor  to  the 
Alhambra :  "  The  blessing  of  God  be  with  thee  evermore ;  may  thy 
pleasures  be  multiplied,  and  thine  enemies  destroyed  ! " 

But  perhaps  you  will  exclaim :  "  How  is  it  possible  that  the 
Moors,  whose  architecture  is  unsurpassed  for  elegance  and  grace, 
could  have  sculptured  such  looking  animals  as  these  and  called  them 
lions  ? "  It  is  easily  explained.  The  Koran  expressly  forbids  any 
representation  of  animal  life,  lest  it  should  lead  the  Moslems  to 
idolatry, —  thus  cutting  them  off  at  once  from  both  painting  and 
sculpture,  in  which  perhaps  the  Arabs  would  have  excelled  as  won- 
derfully as  in  architecture.  I  think,  however,  that  these  beasts  could 
be  safely  worshipped,  without  at  least  violating  one  of  the  old  Hebrew 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


53 


Commandments ;  for  they  resemble  nothing  either  in  heaven  above, 
or  the  earth  beneath,  or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth. 

It  was  in  the  shade  of  these  marble  galleries  that  the  Moorish 
monarch  and  his  friends  loved  to  pass  the  midday  hours,  enjoying 
the  murmur  of  fountains  and  the  cool  air  of  the  Alhambra  heights. 
And  we  are  told  that  the  Moorish  ladies,  whose  beauty  lent  to  this 
incomparable  edifice  an  added  charm,  were  finely  formed,  graceful 
in  their  manners,  and  fascinating  in  their  conversation.  The  Arab 
poets  say  of  them, 
indeed,  that  when 
they  smiled  they 
displayed  teeth  of 
dazzling  whiteness, 
while  their  breath 
was  like  the  per- 
fume of  flowers. 

It  was  standing 
in  this  Court  of  the 
Lions  that  my  guide 
Mariano  said  to  me, 
as  we  paused  to 
listen  to  the  song 
of  a  nightingale  in 
the  foliage  beyond, 
"In  those  notes  we 
fancy  that  we  hear 
the  voices  of  the  lost  Sultanas,  whose  spirits  still  return  to  haunt 
their  earthly  Paradise  ! "  Each  part  of  the  Alhambra  is  haunted 
thus  by  some  poetic  legend,  many  of  which  have  been  inimitably 
told  by  Irving. 

One  of  its  towers,  for  instance,  filled  even  now  with  exquisite 
Moorish  tracery, is  called  the  "Tower  of  the  Captive;"  because  within 
its  walls  was  once  imprisoned  a  fair  Christian  captive,  whom  the 
Moorish  sovereign  wished  to  add  to  his  Harem.  Finally  in  despair 
she  flung  herself  from  its  lofty  window,  beneath  which  her  lifeless 


LIFE   IN   THE   ALHAMBRA. 


54 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


form  was  found  by  her  lover,  who  came  at  last  —  too  late  to  rescue 
her. 

It  was  by  moonlight  in  this  lovely  court  that  I  took  my  farewell 
look  at  this  gem  of  Moorish  art  and  Oriental  beauty.     The  rays  of 


THE  "LAST  SIGH  or  THE  MOOR." 

the  crescent  moon  (the  glorious  symbol  of  Islam),  striking  these 
slender  pillars  obliquely,  gave  to  them  the  transparency  of  alabaster, 
yet  clothed  them  with  a  dust  of  gold.  Through  the  perforated 
carvings  of  the  galleries  the  moonbeams  darted  in  like  silver  arrows, 
as  if  to  pierce  the  once  richly  gilded  capitals  of  the  marble  shafts. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN.  55 

As  I  gazed,  I  felt  as  though  I  were  removed  from  the  world  of 
reality,  and  were  wandering  in  a  moonlit  palace  of  alabaster  in  the 
time  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 

But  now,  emerging  from  the  palace  itself,  let  us  climb  to  the  top 
of  one  of  the  Alhambra  towers,  and  look  far  off  upon  the  undulating 
wall  of  mountains  which  surrounds  it.  Most  of  these  peaks  are 
tawny  and  picturesque  in  their  desolate  grandeur,  while  one  of  them 
is  peculiarly  interesting  from  its  name  and  history.  It  is  called 
the  "  Last  Sigh  of  the  Moor,"  because  when  Boabdil,  the  last  of 
the  Moorish  kings,  was  fleeing  from  his  beloved  city,  he  paused 
upon  that  summit  to  take  a  farewell  look  at  the  Alhambra  and 
its  incomparable  plain.  The  last  Moorish  gem  had  then  been  trans- 
ferred to  the  Spanish  crown.  The  Christian  banner  floated  on 
his  rose-hued  towers,  and  all  was  lost.  What  wonder  that  he  wept 
in  anguish,  exclaiming,  "  God  is  great,  but  when  did  ever  misfortune 
equal  mine  ? "  And,  in  fact,  behind  him  lay  the  most  exquisite  situa- 
tion upon  earth.  Before  him  lay  the  desert  of  Africa,  as  cheerless  as 
the  prospects  of  a  dethroned  fugitive.  Yet  his  mother  imbittered 
his  grief  by  exclaiming,  "  You  weep  now  like  a  woman  over  what 
you  could  not  defend  as  a  man ! " 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  this  wondrous  view  from  the  Alhambra 
is  the  chain  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  covered  with  dazzling  snow,  and 
piercing  the  blue  sky  at  a  height  of  eleven  thousand  feet !  Eightly 
did  the  Arab  poets  compare  these  mountains  to  a  sparkling  mass  of 
mother-of-pearl, — a  vision  never  to  be  forgotten.  They  have  been 
the  pride  of  Granada  ever  since  from  their  sparkling  heights  fleet 
horsemen  used  to  bring  ice  in  baskets  to  cool  the  wine  of  the  Moorish 
kings.  Beautiful  in  form  and  color,  they  stand  above  this  Damascus 
of  the  West  like  beneficent  deities,  fanning  her  with  cooling  breezes, 
tempering  her  summer  heat,  and  feeding  her  limpid  rivers  from  an. 
unfailing  treasure-house  of  snow.  And  now,  by  contrast,  let  us 
transport  ourselves  in  imagination  from  this  former  to  the  present 
home  of  the  Moors,  and  stand  in  one  of  their  stately  olive-groves  near 
Morocco.  Alas !  the  glory  of  the  Moors  is  now  departed.  Little 
remains  to  them  save  bitter  memories.  Surely  it  is  not  strange  that 


56 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


with  such  a  glorious  past  behind  them,  —  connected  too  with  the 
fairest  spot  on  earth,  —  the  grief  of  the  exiled  Arabs  is  still  patheti- 
cally sad.  With  the  exception  of  the  Jews,  there  is  not  another 
such  case  as  theirs  in  history.  Spain  still  appears  to  them  as  a 

"Paradise  Lost."  It  is 
said  that  one  very  distin- 
guished Arab  family,  not 
many  miles  from  Tunis, 
still  keeps  the  key  of  the 
old  ancestral  mansion  in 
Granada.  And  to  this 
day,  among  the  degene- 
rate Moors  of  Africa, 
when  one  of  their  number 
is  pensive  or  sad,  his  com- 
rades will  whisper,  as 
they  point  to  him,  "  He 
thinks  of  Granada  I " 

Filled  with  such  mem- 
ories, let  us  now  return  to 
Spain,  and  follow  rapidly 
in  the  footsteps  of  the 
retreating  Moors  until  we 
reach  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean.  Before 
us  rises, sombre  and  threat- 
ening, to  the  height  of  sev- 
enteen hundred  feet,  the  Eock  of  Gibraltar,  crouched  like  a  mon- 
strous sphinx  upon  the  border  of  the  sea,  and  guarding  thus  the 
most  important  gateway  of  the  world.  Although  completely  paved 
with  English  cannon  and  surmounted  by  the  British  flag,  this  moun- 
tain is  still  an  eloquent  memorial  of  the  Arabs;  for  Gibraltar  is 
only  a  corruption  of  Gibel-al-Tarif,  —  the  mountain  of  Tarif,  the 
leader  of  the  Moors  when  they  first  landed  in  Spain.  Still  more 
impressive  does  this  cliff  become  when  we  behold  it  flushed  with  the 


HE   THINKS   OF   GRANADA. 


TRAVELS  IN  SUNNY  SPAIN. 


57 


radiance  of  the  sunset  glow.  What  wonder  that  the  ancients 
called  this  the  gilded  pillar  of  Hercules,  planted  by  the  gods  at 
the  western  extremity  of  the  universe,  beyond  which  even  the 
boldest  never  dared  to  sail  ? 

As  we  look  upon  this  golden  gateway  of  the  West,  while  the 
waves  of  two  oceans  break  in  ceaseless  cadence  at  its  feet,  we  remem- 
ber with  a  sudden  pang  of  regret  that  for  us  the  fascinating  book  of 


THE    ROCK   OF    GIBRALTAR. 

Spanish  travel  is  closing  fast.  Farewell,  vermilion  towers  of  Gra- 
nada ;  farewell,  embroidered  walls  of  the  Alhambra ;  sweet  orange- 
groves  of  Andalusia;  fair  Giralda  of  Seville;  and  marble  forest  of 
the  Mosque  of  Cordova !  It  is  a  joy  forever  to  have  seen  you.  For 
hereafter  in  the  picture  galleries  of  our  memories  there  will  hang  no 
more  brilliant  and  alluring  tableaux  than  those  which  are  tinted  by 
the  sun  of  Spain. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY    AT    OBER-AMMERGAU 

IN    1880. 

ISOLATED  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  a  lofty  barrier  of  moun- 
tain ranges,  and  hidden  far  away  in  one  of  the  picturesque  valleys 
of  the  Tyrol,  lies  that  little  Bavarian  village  now  known  throughout 
the  world  under  the  name  of  Ober-Ammergau. 

Thither,  through  motives  of  curiosity  or  piety,  about  two  hundred 
thousand  men  and  women,  during  the  summer  of  1880,  made  their 
way. 

The  cause  of  this  marvellous  influx  of  travellers  was  no  magnifi- 
cent cathedral,  no  picturesque  ruin,  nor  even  mediaeval  castle;  for 
none  of  these  does  the  little  town  possess.  The  sole  attraction 
there  was  the  performance  of  its  world-renowned  Passion  Play. 
And  what  is  this  marvellous  Passion  Play,  which  has  thus  been 
able  to  draw  to  itself,  through  difficulties  and  hardships,  thousands 
of  people  whom  no  other  dramatic  scene  could  possibly  have  enticed 
a  hundred  miles  from  their  own  firesides  ?  It  is  a  relic  of  mediaeval 
Christianity,  —  a  legitimate  descendant  of  the  so-called  Miracle  Plays 
common  throughout  Europe  six  or  seven  hundred  years  ago.  Now, 
the  world  in  general  has  outgrown  these  plays.  They  were  doubt- 
less useful  in  their  time,  as  vivid  object  lessons,  but,  with  the  birth 
and  growth  of  printing,  the  period  of  their  utility  gradually  passed 
away.  Yet,  much  as  the  ancient  religions  of  Greece  and  Home  sur- 
vived for  generations  in  the  villages,  long  after  they  had  been  super- 
seded in  the  cities  by  another  creed  (thus  stamping  the  ancient  faith 
with  the  name  Pagan,  from  paganus,  a  rustic),  so  in  this  remote 
valley  of  Bavaria  we  still  see  the  Passion  Play  surviving  all  its 


62  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

kindred,  like  the  last  sacred  fire  kindled  on  a  neglected  shrine  by 
the  ardent  breath  of  simple  piety.  In  all  probability  some  drama 
of  Christ's  life  was  performed  at  various  times  in  this  secluded  vale 
as  early  as  the  thirteenth  century,  but  it  became  an  established 
institution  there  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  Then,  tra- 
dition tells  us,  the  ancestors  of  the  present  villagers  made  a  solemn 
vow  that  if  God  would  check  a  plague  at  that  time  raging  in  their 
midst,  they  would  thereafter  perform  every  ten  years  the  drama 
of  Christ's  life  and  sufferings. 

The  plague  having  abated,  these  people  have  therefore  ever  since 
considered  themselves  sacredly  bound  to  carry  out  this  vow  of  their 
forefathers,  bequeathing  it  from  generation  to  generation  as  a  precious 
and  sacred  legacy.  It  is  true,  the  form  of  the  play  has  of  late  years 
been  carefully  revised  and  shorn  of  many  crudities  by  the  intelligent 
pastor  of  the  village,  Daisenberger ;  but  the  substance  of  it  still  remains 
intact,  and  now,  therefore,  Ober-Ammergau  is  the  only  place  where  any 
remnant  of  the  real  mediaeval  Passion  Play  is  still  performed  with  all 
the  simplicity  and  reverence  of  ancient  days. 

I  hardly  need  add  that  the  so-called  "Passion  Play,"  which,  in 
obedience  to  public  sentiment,  has  been  recently  withdrawn  from  the 
New  York  stage,  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  this  Play  at  Ober- 
Ammergau.  That  was  a  purely  modern  drama  written  by  Mr.  Salmi 
Morse,  and  possessing  neither  the  music  nor  the  text  of  the  Bava- 
rian play,  nor  even  the  arrangement  of  its  parts,  while  it  was  of 
course  wholly  lacking  in  its  remarkable  religious  traditions  and 
historical  associations. 

The  approach  to  Ober-Ammergau  on  the  days  immediately  preced- 
ing a  performance  is  not  such  as  to  put  one  in  a  very  devotional 
frame  of  mind.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  excited  crowd  gathered 
at  the  railway  station  in  Munich  on  a  certain  Friday  morning  in 
July ;  nor  the  grand  stampede  which  occurred  when  the  train  was 
finally  ready  to  receive  us ;  nor  the  frantic  struggling  for  seats  on 
the  part  of  hundreds  of  pilgrims ;  nor  the  long  array  of  more  than 
thirty  cars,  in  which,  packed  like  diminutive  fishes  whose  name  I 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


63 


need  not  mention,  we  crept  along  during  four  terribly  tedious  hours. 
All  this  can  be  easily  imagined.  But  what  never  will  and  never 
can  be  adequately  conceived,  is  the  confusion  attendant  on  the  dis- 
embarkation of  all  these  travellers  at  the  railway  terminus.  In 
fact,  picture  to  yourselves  the  wild  hubbub  occasioned  by  seven  or 
eight  hundred  people  alighting  at  a  country  village  all  at  once  in  a 
pouring  rain,  and  searching  for  carriages  to  convey  them  sixteen  miles 
further  to  Ober-Ammergau !  Not  that  there  were  not  vehicles 


GOING    TO    OBER-AMMERGATT. 


enough  !  Oh,  no !  the  supply,  such  as  it  was,  proved  equal  to  the 
demand ;  for  every  town  in  the  vicinity  had  sent  thither  not  only  all 
its  good  carriages,  but  also  every  old  chaise,  wagon,  tip-cart,  and  hay- 
rack whose  parts  could  still  hold  together.  These  were  drawn  out 
before  the  station  in  a  gigantic  line,  presenting  an  appearance  which 
defies  description.  As  I  looked  at  them,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  come  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  the  whole  German  nation,  or  else  was  about 
to  participate  in  a  colossal  procession  of  "  Antiques  and  Horribles." 
But  let  us  now  suppose  that  our  three  hours'  ride  in  one  of  these 


64 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


conveyances  is  approaching  its  conclusion,  and  that  from  a  distance 
we  are  looking  on  the  little  village  itself,  nestling  at  the  very  base  of 
lofty  mountains  thousands  of  feet  in  height.  Especially  prominent 
among  these  is  the  central  peak  of  the  Kofel,  directly  overhang- 
ing the  village  church,  and  crowned,  as  you  can  perhaps  discern,  by 


THE  VALLEY  AND  THE  KOFEL. 

a  gigantic  cross  cutting  its  simple  outline  sharply  on  the  sky. 
This  mighty  cross  seems  indeed  the  presiding  genius  of  the  place; 
for  it  is  bright  with  the  kiss  of  dawn  an  hour  before  the  mists  of 
morning  quit  the  valley;  and  long  after  evening  has  enfolded  the 
village  in  its  dusky  mantle,  with  outstretched  arms  resplendent  in 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


65 


the  sunset  glow  it  seems  bestowing  on  the  peaceful  vale  its  bene- 
diction. 

But  ere  we  fairly  enter  this  pretty  hamlet,  we  pause  to  examine 
a  colossal  group  of  statuary  placed  on  the  hillside  just  outside  the 
town.     It  was  presented  five  years  ago  to  the  people  of  Ober-Ammer- 
gau   by  the   King  of   Bavaria   as   a 
mark  of    his    appreciation   of    their 
piety.       It    attracts    our    attention, 
however,  not  so  much  as  the  gift  of 
a  king,  or  even  as  a  work  of  art,  — 
though    it    is     not    undeserving    of 
praise,  —  but   on   account   of    a   pa- 
thetic incident  connected  with  it. 

A  few  years  since,  as  this  group 
was  being  drawn  up  the  extraordi- 
narily steep  mountain  road  leading 
to  Ober-Ammergau,  the  wagon  con- 
taining it  slipped  back  a  little,  and 
this  figure  of  St.  John  was  thrown 
out.  Unhappily,  it  fell  upon  the 
sculptor  and  his  assistant,  crushing 
the  former  to  death  upon  the  spot, 

while  his  assistant  died  the  next  day  in  great  agony.  There  was 
therefore  something  peculiarly  horrible  to  me  in  the  sight  of  this 
nobly  designed  statue  of  St.  John ;  for,  notwithstanding  its  beauty,  I 
could  but  feel,  in  beholding  it,  as  though  the  insensate  stone  were 
a  moral  agent  and  had  committed  parricide  in  taking  thus  the  life 
of  the  author  of  its  being. 

But,  riding  now  beyond  this  group,  let  us  approach  the  village 
still  more  closely.  Impatient  as  we  are  to  enter  it,  let  me  detain  you 
a  moment  longer  at  the  threshold  beneath  the  towering  summit  of 
the  Kofel,  while  I  answer  a  question  existing  probably  in  the  mind 
of  every  visitor  to  Ober-Ammergau  ;  namely,  How  will  it  be  possible 
for  common  peasants  to  interpret  with  any  skill  and  power,  or  even 
to  appreciate,  so  lofty  a  theme  as  the  Passion  Play  ?  But  in  reply, 

5 


KING  LTOWIG  S   GIFT. 


66  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

let  me  say  at  once  that  the  chief  actors  here  are  by  no  means  "  com- 
mon peasants."  Joseph  Maier,  for  example,  who  takes  the  part  of 
the  Christ,  and  the  impersonators  of  Judas,  Pilate,  and  other  leading 
characters,  are  in  reality  artists,  who  support  themselves  and  their 
families  by  wood-carving,  many  of  their  productions  being  very 
beautiful  and  praiseworthy. 

In  fact,  there  is  in  this  secluded  mountain  region  a  permanent 
school  of  design  and  carving,  aided  by  the  Bavarian  Government, 
and  supported  by  the  inhabitants  often  at  a  severe  pecuniary  sacri- 
fice. All  this  gives  them  an  aesthetic  education  in  itself;  and  its 
influence  upon  the  villagers  is  seen  in  their  taste  for  decoration,  and 
the  natural  correctness  of  grouping  and  the  artistic  postures  which 
they  assume  upon  the  stage. 

This  drama  of  the  passion  of  Christ  not  only  forms  in  its  long 
preparation  and  enactment  a  considerable  part  of  the  individual  lives 
of  these  villagers,  but  is  also  the  central  feature  in  the  history  of 
the  village  itself.  For  their  various  parts  in  it  they  are  often 
trained  by  gradual  steps  from  childhood  to  old  age,  and,  profiting  by 
centuries  of  stage  traditions,  they  come  to  the  rendition  of  their 
characters  with  a  wonderful  enthusiasm  and  religious  fervor.  Not 
to  be  considered  fit  to  appear  at  all  in  the  Passion  Play  would  be  for 
an  Ober-Ammergau  peasant  a  terrible  misfortune  and  disgrace ; 
while  to  enact  the  part  of  the  Christ  is  the  noblest  honor  of  which 
he  can  conceive.  Moreover,  we  must  not  make  the  mistake  of 
supposing  Ober-Ammergau  to  be  an  ordinary  German  village.  In 
some  respects  it  is  entirely  unique  and  remarkable.  Not  only  is 
this  Passion  Play  performed  here  at  the  recurrence  of  each  decade, 
but  every  year  upon  a  permanent  stage  these  villagers  enact  at 
frequent  intervals,  for  their  own  education,  recreation,  and  improve- 
ment, not  merely  religious  dramas,  but  also  such  noble  plays  as  those 
of  Schiller  and  Goethe,  and  even  the  Greek  Antigone  of  Sophocles, 
adapted  for  them  by  their  venerable  pastor.  Thus  they  acquire 
continual  dramatic  training,  and  are  raised  to  a  high  standard  of 
appreciation. 

This  being  premised,  let  us  without  further  delay  pass  within  the 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


67 


town  itself.  I  was  quite  pleasantly  disappointed  in  its  appearance, 
the  white  stone  houses  being  unusually  neat  and  clean.  The  reli- 
gious character  of  the  place  is  shown  at  once  by  the  fact  that  many 
of  the  houses  have  highly  colored  frescos  on  their  outer  walls,  repre- 
senting Biblical  or  sacred  mediaeval  legends.  On  some  of  the  build- 
ings, however,  I  discerned  a  much  more  prosaic  view  of  life  in  the 


VILLAGE   OF  OBEU-AMMEKGAU. 

notice  that  there  coffee  and  lager  beer  could  be  obtained.  But  what 
astonished  me  chiefly  on  entering  the  town  was  my  sudden  advent 
into  saintly  society.  Hardly  had  our  carriage  passed  within  the  first 
street,  when  the  driver  pointed  out  to  us  the  residence  of  Judas. 
A  few  paces  further  on,  stood  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  pumping 
water.  "That,"  whispered  my  coachman,  "is  St.  John."  Before  I 
could  fairly  look  at  him,  my  attention  was  called  to  Herod,  whose 
occupation  is  that  of  a  baker,  and  whose  bare  arms  were  white  with 


68 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


flour.  I  was  trying  to  remember  that  of  course  these  simple  peas- 
ants could  not  always  go  about  the  streets  in  their  stage  costumes, 
when  a  boy,  whose  long  hair  was  streaming  out  in  all  directions,  as 
though  he  had  taken  a  shock  of  electricity,  came  running  out  of 
a  neighboring  doorway.  This  proved  to  be  the  youthful  Joseph, 
who  was  forced  by  his  elder  brethren  to  carry  my  valise  for  me, 
and  even  to  black  my  boots  while  I  lodged  in  his  father's  house. 
But  through  these  village  streets  we  naturally  make  our  way  as 
soon  as  possible  to  the  theatre  itself.  Certainly  one  could  imagine 
nothing  plainer.  It  looked  to  me  very  much  like  the  exterior  of 


EXTERIOR   OF   THEATRE. 


a  cattle-fair  or  race-course,  especially  when  thousands  of  peasants 
were  assembled  here  struggling  to  gain  admission.  In  fact,  up  to 
the  time  of  my  passing  inside  the  walls,  I  confess  to  having  expe- 
rienced here  little  else  than  feelings  of  disappointment  and  disgust ; 
for,  notwithstanding  the  most  extraordinary  precautions  on  my  part, 
and  a  wonderful  amount  of  kindness  exercised  by  friends  already  in 
the  village,  we  had  found  on  our  arrival  our  positively  engaged 
apartments  already  given  up  to  others.  And  may  Heaven  preserve 
my  worst  enemy  from  such  a  fate  as  that  in  an  over-crowded  Ger- 
man hamlet!  We  had,  therefore,  passed  our  first  night  at  Ober- 
Ammergau  in  vile  quarters,  characterized  by  an  odor  which  I  should 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


69 


suppose  must  also  have  pertained  to  Noah's  ark  after  the  forty  days' 
rain,  when  only  one  window  could  be  opened  for  ventilation.  More- 
over, that  same  night  had  been  rendered  sleepless  by  desperate  con- 
flicts with  those  tiny  animals  which  form,  alas,  the  curse  of  Southern 
Europe.  Even  the  second  night,  also,  though  spent  in  clean  apart- 
ments, had  been  as  noisy  as,  in  this  country,  the  night  preceding  the 
Fourth  of  July.  For,  from  the  early  hour  of  three  o'clock  Sunday 
morning,  our  slumbers  had  been  broken  by  the  sounds  of  bells, 
horns,  guns,  innumerable  voices,  and  finally  a  band  of  music.  Then, 
too,  so  crowded  was  the  town  that,  on  looking  out  of  my  window  at 
daybreak,  the  first  thing  I  discovered  was  a  gentleman  completing 
his  toilet  in  a  carriage  where  he  had  passed  the  night !  When, 
therefore,  at  half  past  seven  Sunday  morning,  I  stood  before  this 
uninviting  theatre,  my  spirits  were  not  buoyant ;  and  if  any  one  had 
then  told  me  that  I  should  describe  the  Passion  Play  itself  as  I  shall 
now  proceed  to  do,  I  should  have 
laughed  him  to  scorn.  But,  for- 
getting these  minor  tribulations, 
before  we  take  our  seats  within 
the  auditorium,  let  us  in  imagi- 
nation pass  behind  the  scenes, 
and  observe  some  of  the  principal 
actors  ere  they  make  their  appear- 
ance on  the  stage.  And,  first, 
while  looking  on  the  face  of  the 
spirited  performer  who  took  the 
part  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  let 
me  answer  a  question  continually 
addressed  to  me  in  reference  to 
the  pecuniary  results  of  the  Pas- 
sion Play.  "What  is  done  with  the  money?"  it  is  asked,  and 
"Who  receives  it?" 

This  Herr  Maier  explained  to  me  quite  fully.  The  money  received 
from  the  sale  of  tickets,  varying  as  they  do  in  price  from  twenty-five 
cents  to  two  dollars,  is  divided  into  four  parts.  The  first  is  used  to 


JOSEPH   OF  AKIMATHEA. 


70 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


pay  off  the  expenses  of  the  season,  one  item  of  which  (that  of  the 
costumes)  cost  in  1880  fourteen  thousand  dollars.  The  second  quar- 
ter is  laid  aside  as  a  permanent  fund,  to  improve  the  town  and  to 
build  a  new  theatre  at  the  expiration  of  the  next  ten  years.  The 
third  part  is  devoted  to  the  church  and  to  the  poor  of  the  village. 
The  last  is  divided  among  some  seven  hundred  actors ! 

The  statement  has  been  made 
that  Joseph  Maier  was  greatly 
dissatisfied  with  his  pecuniary 
receipts  for  the  season  of  1880. 
I  believe  this  to  be  erroneous, 
because  at  that  time  he  said  re- 
peatedly that  he  should  be  per- 
fectly content  if  he  received  for 
his  whole  summer's  work  (and 
remember  that  he  has  acted  his 
part  every  Sunday  and  Monday 
from  May  to  the  last  of  Septem- 
ber) one  hundred  dollars !  Ten 
years  ago  he  received  even  less 
than  this.  It  is  difficult  to  ob- 
tain a  reliable  estimate  of  the 
amounts  paid  to  him  and  to  the  other  performers;  but,  as  rumor 
places  Maier's  receipts  for  the  season  at  more  than  two  hundred 
dollars,  I  believe  him  to  be  more  than  satisfied,  in  accordance  with 
his  own  declaration. 

But  now,  for  a  moment,  let  us  observe  another  of  these  actors, 
who  assumes  the  part  of  Herod.  The  sight  of  this  man  reminds  me 
that  I  may  here  appropriately  answer  another  question  frequently 
asked  in  regard  to  these  villagers ;  namely,  Have  they  not  been  made 
worldly,  possibly  even  corrupt,  by  the  multitude  of  strangers  flocking 
to  their  secluded  town  ?  If  any  man  in  Ober-Ammergau  could  have 
made  me  think  so,  it  is  this  same  impersonator  of  King  Herod ;  for 
it  was  in  his  house  that  I  at  first  lodged,  and,  as  I  have  already 
hinted,  both  he  and  his  wife  seemed  best  fitted  to  play  the  r61es  of 


HEROD. 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


71 


Ananias  and  Sapphira,  having  flagrantly  (and  I  think  inexcusably) 
broken  their  word  in  regard  to  my  promised  rooms.  Moreover,  in 
the  controversy  which  ensued  between  us,  this  man  became  so  ex- 
tremely violent  and  abusive,  not  only  to  myself  but  to  a  lady  of  my 
party,  that  I  suspected  him  of  being  capable  of  another  murder  of 
the  innocents,  and  appealed  to  the  Burgomeister  of  the  village  for 
assistance.  This  he  most  willingly  gave,  deciding  immediately  in  my 
favor.  Now,  if  I  were  to  judge  all  the  villagers  by  this  one  instance, 
I  should  certainly  give  them  a  bad  reputation. 

But  on  account  of  this  very  difficulty  I  took  unusual  pains  to 
study  the  people  of  Ober-Ammergau  without  prejudice,  and  am  con- 
vinced that  Herod  was  an  exception  to  the  rule.  His  violent  char- 
acter seemed  to  be  well  known  in  the  town,  and  his  neighbors  spoke 
of  him  as  possessed  of  an  unfortunate  and  ungovernable  temper. 
Moreover,  it  is  only  justice  to  say  that  this  disagreeable-  experience 
was  abundantly  offset  by  the  unselfish  kindness  of  another  of  the 
actors,  who  apologized  with  tears  in  his  eyes  for  the  discourtesy 
which  had  been  shown  to  us  by  one  of  his  townsmen,  and  insisted 
upon  giving  up  to  us  his  own 
room  during  our  stay  in  Ober- 
Ammergau,  though  at  great  in- 
convenience (as  I  afterwards 
learned)  to  himself  and  a  rela- 
tive whom  he  had  invited  to 
lodge  with  him. 

Yet,  while  we  glance  at 
Jacob  Hett,  the  dignified  actor 
who,  both  in  1870  and  1880, 
has  assumed  the  role  of  Peter, 
let  me  add  that  undoubtedly 
human  nature  is  much  the 
same  the  world  over,  and  every 
country  town  (especially  when 

exposed  to  a  weekly  avalanche  of  twelve  thousand  visitors)  will 
inevitably  present  some  disagreeable  characteristics.  The  people  of 


PETER. 


72 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


Ober-Ammergau  are  not  entirely  unlike  other  people,  and  therefore 
they  of  course  expect  to  earn  some  money  from  the  entertainment 
of  their  guests.  This  is  but  natural  and  proper.  No  one,  certainly, 
should  grudge  them  the  little  they  thus  gain,  once  in  ten  years,  by 
hard  labor  and  great  discomfort  to  themselves  and  families.  But 
that  these  people  give  the  Passion  Play  itself  from  mercenary  mo- 
tives, is  an  idea  which  no  unprejudiced  observer  will,  I  think,  for  a 
moment  entertain.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  they  have  refused 
several  very  tempting  offers  to  perform  in  England  and  America. 

The  sum  of  thirty  thousand  dollars  was  offered  these  villagers, 
if  a  few  of  their  number  would  act  the  Passion  Play  in  Vienna 
during  the  exposition  of  1873.  This  also  they  refused.  Herr  Maier 
himself  expressed  in  my  presence  the  greatest  indignation  at  the  idea 
that  their  sacred  and  historic  drama  should  thus  be  made  an  article 

of  speculation  in  the  markets  of 
the  world,  adding  that  if  the  Pas- 
sion Play  were  not  performed  in 
1890,  it  would  be  on  account  of 
the  corrupt  and  worldly  influence 
of  outside  adventurers  and  specu- 
lators. 

But  now,  before  the  drama 
actually  commences,  let  us  look 
at  the  face  of  her  who  during  the 
summer  of  1880  assumed  the  part 
of  Mary,  the  mother  of  Jesus. 

It  certainly  is  not  the  conven- 
tional Madonna's  face.     We  can- 
MARY.  not  even  call  it  beautiful.     Yet 

her  features  are  marked  by  ten- 
derness and  refinement,  though  care  and  toil  have  evidently  left  deep 
traces  there.  The  female  characters  of  the  Ober-Ammergau  Passion 
Play,  as  last  enacted,  formed,  however,  the  weakest  feature  of  the 
drama.  The  women  did  not  compare  with  the  men  in  dramatic 
ability,  and  labored  under  the  great  disadvantage  of  having  to  strain 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  73 

their  voices  to  make  themselves  heard  across  the  vast  auditorium. 
Nevertheless,  in  the  part  of  Mary  there  was  happily  little  to  criticise. 
Her  anxiety,  her  love,  and  agony  of  mind  were  all  portrayed,  with 
considerable  power,  and  with  much  delicacy  of  interpretation.  There 
was,  at  all  events,  no  ranting  or  extravagance  in  her  acting,  which, 
considering  the  tendency  to  excess  that  we  might  naturally  expect 
here,  was  all  the  more  remarkable. 

But,  having  thus  satisfied  ourselves  with  a  glimpse  at  those  actors 
whose  parts  we  shall  not  prominently  trace  throughout  the  play,  let 
us  hasten,  with  thousands  of  others,  within  the  theatre  itself. 

At  once  its  barn-like  exterior  gives  place  to  an  immense  audi- 
torium and  stage,  usually  severely  plain,  but  in  some  places  tastefully 


INTERIOR  OF   THEATRE. 


decorated.  The  stage  is  entirely  uncovered,  and  thus  the  actors  are 
exposed  alike  to  sun  and  rain.  The  greater  part  of  the  auditorium  also 
is  open  to  the  sky,  only  some  hundreds  of  cane-seated  chairs  in  the  rear 


74 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


•I 


being  protected  by  a  canopy.  The  passage- 
ways upon  the  right  and  left  of  the  stage  rep- 
resent streets  in  Jerusalem;  while  between 
them  and  the  drop-curtain  in  the  centre  the 
two  houses  with  balconies  typify,  respectively, 
the  dwellings  of  Pilate  and  Annas,  the  High 
Priest.  The  impression  produced  from  the 
very  outset  was  remarkable;  for  at  least  six 
thousand  people  were  gathered  here  in  eager 
expectation  of  what  they  were  to  see ;  and  on 
one  side,  as  we  awaited  the  opening  of  the 
drama,  we  could  look  forth  upon  lofty  moun- 
tains, and  on  the  other,  over  and  beyond  the 
stage,  upon  a  charming  expanse  of  the  Am- 
mergau  valley;  the  beauty  of  the  landscape, 
the  vistas  of  mountains  and  valleys,  waving 
trees,  blue  sky,  and  fleecy  clouds  imparting 
a  delightful  air  of  freshness  and  enchantment 
to  the  scene. 

It  was  precisely  eight  o'clock  when  a  can- 
non woke  with  its  reverberations  the  echoes  of 
the  neighboring  mountains,  and  gave  the  sig- 
nal for  the  drama  to  commence.  As  in  an 
ordinary  theatre,  the  director  of  the  orchestra 
raised  his  baton,  and  the  first  strains  of  a 
solemn  overture  floated  out  upon  the  silent 
air.  This  was  the  visible  prelude  to  the  play ; 
but  there  was  also  a  prelude  which  was  by 
us  unseen;  for  during  the  performance  of 
the  overture,  behind  the  curtain  of  the  central 
stage,  all  the  principal  actors  were  assembled 
together  with  their  pastor,  engaged  in  silent 
prayer.  At  length,  the  preliminary  music 
being  concluded,  a  company  of  nineteen  per- 
sons made  their  appearance,  arrayed  in 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


75 


brightly  colored  robes  and  mantles.  With  slow,  dignified  step  they 
advanced,  to  stand  in  a  slightly  concave  line  across  the  entire  stage. 
They  represent  a  company  of  guardian  spirits,  who  throughout  the 
entire  play  perform  almost  precisely  the  duty  of  the  old  Greek 
chorus  in  the  Athenian  dramas ;  that  is  to  say,  their  duty  is  to 
announce  and  explain  the  various  scenes  and  tableaux,  as  well  as  to 
impress  upon  the  audience  their  moral  lesson ;  for,  as  their  name 
implies,  they  must  be  continually  present,  as  heavenly  monitors,  dur- 
ing the  entire  performance. 

Now,  there  are  in  the  Passion  Play  eighteen  acts,  before  and  after 


TABLEAU. 


each  of  which  this  chorus  sings  ;  and,  since  in  the  mind  of  the  Ober- 
Ammergau  villagers  the  explanation  of  these  spiritual  guardians  is 
not  sufficient,  at  the  conclusion  of  their  chant  the  singers  gracefully 
retreat  to  right  and  left,  and  the  curtain  rises  in  the  centre  to  dis- 
close a  tableau,  supposed  to  be  typical  of  the  scene  which  is  to 
follow.  Thus  tableaux,  dramatic  scenes,  and  sacred  chants  glide 
one  into  another  all  clay  long,  without  the  slightest  hesitation.  For 
example,  the  tableau  now  before  us  represents  Adam  toiling  for  his 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  and  precedes  the  act  where  Christ 
endures  the  anguish  of  Gethsemane.  Another,  which  portrays  Joseph 
sold  into  captivity  by  his  brethren,  precedes  and  typifies  the  act 
wherein  we  see  the  betrayal  of  Jesus  by  Iscariot.  In  the  same 
manner,  the  remorse  of  Judas  for  his  treachery  has  a  tableau  pre- 


76 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


ceding  it,  where  Cain  is  portrayed  as  rushing  forth  from  the  murder 
of  his  brother,  the  curse  of  the  Almighty  on  his  brow.  Many  of 
these  tableaux  are  most  remarkable,  not  only  from  the  great  multi- 
tude of  participants,  (numbering,  as  they  sometimes  do,  four  or  five 
hundred  persons),  but  also  from  the  really  wonderful  statue-like 
repose  observed  by  all  of  them,  even  to  the  little  children  of  two 
or  three  years  of  age.  In  one  of  these  tableaux  were  at  least  one 
hundred  and  fifty  children;  yet,  through  a  powerful  glass  I  was 
unable  to  detect  in  them  the  slightest  movement,  even  when  fully 
five  minutes  had  elapsed  between  the  rising  and  falling  of  the 
curtain  ! 


ENTRY   INTO   JERUSALEM. 


But  now  we  are  naturally  impatient  for  the  first  act  of  the  drama 
itself.  Scarcely  has  the  chorus  left  the  stage  after  its  first  appear- 
ance, when  the  air  is  filled  with  shouts  of  rejoicing,  and  down  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem  we  see  a  vast  multitude  of  men,  women,  and 
children  eagerly  advancing,  waving  palm  branches,  and  shouting 
"  Hosanna  ! "  as  the  Christ  makes  his  triumphal  entry  into  the  city, 
riding  upon  an  ass. 

Only  a  small  portion  of  this  multitude  is  represented  in  the  illus- 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  77 

tration,  for  if  the  whole  stage  were  portrayed,  the  figures  would  be 
microscopic ;  but  it  serves  to  give  us  a  suggestion  of  what  the  entire 
scene  must  be.  If  it  be  thrilling  to  witness,  on  an  ordinary  stage,  as 
in  the  play  of  Julius  Caesar,  a  moving  multitude  of  fifty  or  sixty 
actors,  think  of  the  effect  produced  by  jive  or  six  hundred  men, 
women,  and  children,  all  clad  in  bright  Oriental  costumes,  singing 
and  shouting  together  in  exultation,  all  moving  in  the  vivid  sunlight 
and  under  the  open  sky,  so  that  one  fancies  he  is  witnessing  an 
actual  procession  in  the  streets !  In  the  midst  of  this  vast  con- 
course we  discern  the  figure  of  the  Christ  (Joseph  Maier),  surrounded 
by  some  of  his  disciples.  At  this  point  began  my  first  feelings  of 
amazement  at  the  Passion  Play.  I  had  expected  very  ordinary  act- 
ing, if  not  in  the  leaders,  at  least  in  those  who  sustained  the  minor 
parts.  But,  without  the  slightest  qualification,  I  can  truly  say  that 
in  none  of  the  great  theatres  of  the  world  have  I  seen  in  an  operatic 
chorus  or  crowd  of  theatrical  performers  anything  like  the  freedom 
and  naturalness  of  these  multitudes  of  Ober-Ammergau.  I  attribute 
this  chiefly  to  two  causes,  —  first,  the  incessant  practice  which  they 
have  undergone  for  days  and  months  and  years ;  and  second,  the  fact 
that  such  large  numbers  naturally  inspire  confidence  in  the  individual 
actors,  preventing  even  the  most  timid  from  appearing  embarrassed 
or  constrained. 

As  for  the  Christ  himself,  who  has  made  his  triumphal  entry 
into  the  Holy  City,  let  us  examine  his  face  separately.  Throughout 
the  drama  we  shall  behold  many  representations  of  Maier  with  very 
different  expressions,  but  they  are  all  full  of  interest. 

The  one  before  us  indicates  his  attitude,  when,  after  alighting  from 
the  ass,  he  enters  the  temple  and  looks  upon  the  desecration  of  his 
Father's  house.  His  face  expresses  indignation,  but  indignation  min- 
gled with  profound  grief.  In  the  whole  course  of  the  drama  I  think 
there  is  nothing  which  puts  the  delicate  appreciation  of  Maier  more 
to  the  test  than  this  scene  in  the  temple  with  the  money-changers. 
Think  of  the  opportunity  here  afforded  for  ranting  and  extrava- 
gance, especially  when  he  overturns  the  tables  of  the  traders  and 
those  who  sell  doves,  and  drives  them  forth  with  a  whip  of  cords ! 


78 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


A  single  bad  gesture,  a  single  violent  or  vulgar  movement,  would 
be  here  revolting.  But  Maier  is  equal  to  the  test. 

Advancing  slowly  and  with  a 
certain  majestic  sadness,  which 
I  cannot  sufficiently  praise,  he 
pushes  aside  the  tables,  not  in 
hasty  anger,  but  rather  as  though 
their  presence  were  pollution ;  and 
we  are  so  absorbed  by  his  look 
and  action  that  we  hardly  notice 
when  they  really  fall.  Perhaps 
we  should  not  do  so,  were  it  not 
that  real  doves  thus  loosened 
from  their  cots  fly  over  the  walls 
of  the  auditorium  into  the  adjoin- 
ing town. 

This,  indeed,  is  an  illustration 
CHRIST  IN  THE  TEMPLE.  of  the  fact  that  throughout  his 

entire  role  Maier  looks  upon  the 

character  of  Jesus  from  a  divine,  rather  than  a  human,  standpoint. 
Even  in  his  most  thrilling  moments  he  is  always  self-controlled. 
Never  for  an  instant  does  he  lose  the  sublime  consciousness  of 
his  high  mission;  and  even  with  his  humility  there  is  mingled  a 
certain  grandeur.  But  a  still  more  difficult  task  is  that  which  Maier 
encounters  in  the  scene  of  the  Last  Supper.  Here  also  I  could  dis- 
cover, in  his  bearing,  his  action,  and  the  perfect  enunciation  of  his 
words,  absolutely  nothing  to  criticise. 

The  grouping  here  of  Maier  and  his  disciples,  as  you  at  once 
discern,  closely  resembles  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  well-known  painting 
of  this  subject.  In  fact,  it  reproduces  that  picture  in  life,  with  all 
its  richness  of  Oriental  coloring. 

The  scene  is  one  of  great  beauty  and  impressiveness,  especially 
when,  the  dispute  having  arisen  among  the  disciples  as  to  which 
shall  be  chief,  the  master  rises  with  inimitable  dignity  and  reproach- 
ful love,  and  slowly  passes  from  one  to  another,  to  set  them  the 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


79 


example  of  humility  by  washing  their  feet.  You  can  better  realize 
the  intensity  which  Maier  throws  into  his  acting  here,  when  I  tell 
you  that  he  said  to  a  friend  of  mine,  "  You  cannot  imagine  how  I 
come  to  love  those  men  at  the  Last  Supper,  while  I  am  washing 
their  feet."  This  action  seems  to  touch  profoundly  even  the  heart 
of  Judas;  for  he  sits  for  some  time  after  with  his  head  resting  on 
his  hands,  as  though  still  struggling  with  his  conscience. 

During  the  distribution  of  the  bread  and  wine  the  silence  of  the 
immense  audience  seems  breathless ;  the  climax  being  reached  when 


THE   LAST   SUPPER. 


the  announcement  is  made  by  Jesus,  "  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you, 
that  one  of  YOU  shall  betray  me ! " 

In  the  consternation  which  follows,  even  Judas  himself,  con- 
fused and  fearful,  exclaims  with  the  others,  "  Lord,  is  it  I  ? "  And 
Maier  answers  him  sadly,  yet  not  without  some  sternness  in  his 
voice,  "Judas,  that  which  thou  doest,  do  quickly."  While  speak- 
ing thus  of  Iscariot,  let  us  now  look  upon  his  face.  Next  to 
Maier  he  is  undoubtedly  the  finest  of  the  actors.  His  features  mark 
him  as  a  man  of  strong  character,  and  at  no  time  in  the  drama 
does  he  fail  to  command  our  interest  and  sympathy.  For,  from 
the  first  moment,  when  the  hideous  idea  of  betraying  his  master 
for  money  is  suggested  to  him  by  the  agents  of  the  chief  priests, 


80 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


until  his  remorse  culminates  in  suicide,  his  rendering  of  his  part  is 
wonderful. 

Now,  Gregor  Lechner,  who  in  1870  as  well  as  1880  has  taken 
this  role,  is  a  most  worthy  man,  and  hence  he  feels  it  keenly  that 

so  many  (especially  of 
course  among  the  peas- 
ants) identify  his  as- 
sumed, with  his  real, 
character.  Many  people, 
indeed,  actually  refuse  to 
buy  his  portrait  with 
those  of  the  other  actors, 
and  look  upon  him  with 
unconcealed  abhorrence. 

By  a  singular  coin- 
cidence, Lechner's  father 
also  took  the  part  of 
Judas  forty  years  ago. 
When,  therefore,  the 
present  actor  was  re- 
cently asked  if  he  was  training  his  bright  little  son,  who  is  in  the 
tableaux,  to  follow  him  in  the  rQle  of  the  betrayer,  he  emphatically 
replied,  "  No !  I  have  suffered  already  too  much  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people  to  wish  my  child  to  assume  the  part." 

But  now  let  us  look  upon  some  prominent  features  in  the  r61e  of 
Judas :  and  first,  the  scene  with  the  Sanhedrim.  The  rising  curtain 
reveals  the  assembled  council.  Judas  has  not  yet  made  his  appear- 
ance before  them.  Caiaphas  and  Annas  occupy  the  central  seats  of 
honor,  above  the  tables  of  the  scribes.  A  most  exciting  debate  is 
being  carried  on,  as  to  what  shall  be  done  with  this  Galilean,  the 
words  uttered  being  such  as  must  naturally  have  been  spoken  on  the 
occasion.  In  fact,  I  may  here  remark  parenthetically  that  whenever 
the  text  of  the  Passion  Play  leaves  the  direct  narration  of  the  Gos- 
pels, the  language  is  usually  simple,  dignified,  and  often  eloquent. 
The  High  Priest,  Caiaphas,  (who  in  private  life  is  Burgomeister 


JUDAS. 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


81 


of  the  village),  is  richly  attired  in  a  long  white  robe  with  silver 
fringe,  while  on  his  breast  gleam  the  twelve  jewels  symbolic  of  the 
Israelitish  tribes. 

It  is  he  who  first  addresses  the  assembly  with  passionate  eager- 
ness. "  Fathers  of  the  people,"  he  exclaims,  "our  religion  is  in  danger 
of  being  overthrown.  Did  not  this  Galilean  drive  out  the  buyers 
and  sellers  from  the  temple  ?  Did  you  not  see  how  he  entered  our 
city  in  triumph  ?  He  is  carrying  the  people  with  him  and  is  teach- 
ing them  to  despise  us.  Shall  we  wait  here  until  the  last  shadow 
of  our  power  is  gone  ?  I,  at  least,  am  in  favor  of  his  death."  The 
aged  Annas  also  rises  from  his  seat  and  exclaims,  in  tones  tremulous 


ISCAB.IOT   AND   THE    SANHEDRIM. 

with  emotion  and  infirmity,  "  By  my  gray  hairs,  I  swear  not  to  rest, 
until  our  religion  is  made  safe  by  his  destruction." 

At  length,  they  fully  decide  to  put  the  Nazarerie  to  death ;  but 
of  this,  when  Judas  makes  his  appearance,  they  cunningly  say  noth- 
ing. On  the  contrary,  they  tell  him  only  that  they  wish  to  imprison 
his  master  for  a  short  time,  to  prevent  his  uttering  any  more  extreme 

6 


82  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

doctrines.  Judas  stands  for  some  moments  thus,  beside  a  little  table 
in  the  centre,  listening  to  the  words  of  the  council,  and  struggling 
with  his  feelings.  His  acting  here  is  exceptionally  fine. 

Without  uttering  a  single  word,  he  yet  makes  it  perfectly  evident 
that  what  he  is  about  to  do  is  revolting  to  his  better  nature.  The 
sight  of  the  money,  however,  and  its  ring  upon  the  table  decide  him ; 
and,  as  if  lured  on  by  an  irresistible  attraction,  he  clutches  the  silver, 
tests  each  piece,  and  sweeps  it  eagerly  into  the  bag.  Meantime  his 
evil  genius  (the  agent  of  the  chief  priests)  stands  watching  him 
intently,  as  Mephistopheles  watches  Faust,  lest  at  the  last  moment 
he  may  recoil. 

Another  very  striking  feature  in  the  part  of  Judas  is  his  conduct  in 
the  betrayal  scene,  which  we  will  now  pass  to  consider.  The  rising 
curtain  reveals  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  whither  Maier  has  led  the 
disciples  from  the  Last  Supper.  There  was  to  me  nothing  more  touch- 
ing in  the  whole  drama  than  Maier's  acting  in  this  scene.  One  natu- 
rally trembles  at  first  with  apprehension,  lest  he  do  something  which 
shall  offend  ;  but  all  such  anxiety  is  needless  while  Joseph  Maier  takes 
the  part  of  Christ.  Three  times  he  goes  away  to  kneel  in  prayer ; 
three  times,  in  a  tone  which  thrills  us  with  sympathy,  he  pleads, 
"  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me ; "  but  finally, 
when  he  has  gained  the  spiritual  victory,  there  falls  from  his  lips  the 
sublime  expression,  "  Father,  not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt !  " 

Then  for  a  moment  there  appears  an  angel  strengthening  him. 
Meantime  his  disciples  are  sleeping  on,  unmindful  of  their  master's 
agony.  He  looks  upon  them  sadly  yet  tenderly,  as  one  might  look 
upon  a  weary  child.  Then,  as  though  foreseeing  the  trials  which 
await  them,  he  murmurs,  "  Sleep  on  now  and  take  your  rest ; "  but 
soon  arouses  them  with  the  words,  "  Arise!  for  the  hour  is  at  hand  ! " 
It  is  indeed  time.  The  Roman  guards  have  come,  and,  guided  by 
the  faithless  Judas,  have  surprised  the  Christ  and  his  disciples  in  the 
shadows  of  Gethsemane.  Iscariot  advances  with  a  rapid  step,  like 
one  who  is  forcing  himself  in  desperation  to  some  hateful  act  which 
he  has  promised  to  perform.  Here  again  his  manner  perfectly  por- 
trays the  partial  loathing  with  which  he  regards  his  treachery.  With 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT   OBER^AMMERGAU. 


83 


a  quick,  convulsive  movement  he  seizes  the  hand  of  his  master,  and 
imprints  upon  his  pallid  cheek  the  fatal  kiss.  Then,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  relief  and  partial  shame,  he  skulks  away  among  the  trees  and 
lets  the  Eoman  soldiers  do  their  work.  There  is  something  sublime 
in  the  isolation  of  Maier,  as  he  stands  thus  looking  on  the  soldiers  who 


THE   BETBAYAL. 

recoil  before  his  glance.  All  the  weakness  and  irresolution  of  the  pre- 
vious hour  have  vanished.  Calm  and  collected,  he  confronts  them 
like  a  captive  king.  But  his  disciples,  who  an  hour  before  had  been 
so  loud  in  their  protestations  of  devotion  even  unto  death,  all  hurry  off 
in  terror  through  the  shadows  of  the  garden,  leaving  him  alone. 


84 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


But  let  us  look  upon  Judas  in  one  last  illustration  of  his  part. 
We  see  him  here  experiencing  the  tortures  of  a  guilty  conscience, 
and  his  remorse,  expressed  in  words,  in  gesture,  and  in  act,  is  simply 
terrible.  When  he  learns  that  Jesus  is  condemned  to  death  ;  when 
he  rushes  into  the  presence  of  the  priests  and  begs  in  piteous  accents 
for  his  master's  life ;  when  he  hears  in  reply  their  cutting  words  and 
taunting  laughter,  and  hurling  the  accursed  silver  at  their  feet  rushes 
forth,  shrieking  that  he  and  they  will  go  down  together  in  the  deepest 
hell,  —  the  effect  produced  is  overpowering. 

A  shudder  of  horror  passes  over  the  entire  audience,  which  is 


REMOKSE   OF  JUDAS. 

only  intensified  when  we  see  the  wretched  man  wandering  over  the 
open  country  and  crying  out  in  anguish,  "  For  me  there  is  no  for- 
giveness, no  salvation  !  I  am  the  outcast  villain  who  hath  brought 
my  benefactor  to  these  bonds  and  death.  There  is  no  help  for  me ! 
For  me  no  hope !  Too  late,  too  late  !  —  for  he  is  dead,  and  I  —  I  am 
his  murderer ! " 

Then,  finally,  in  desperation  he  loosens  his  girdle,  ties  one  end 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


85 


about  his  neck,  and  prepares  to  hang  himself ;  the  curtain  falling  at 
the  precise  moment  when  he  is  fastening  the  other  portion  of  the 
girdle  to  the  tree. 

Now,  the  Passion  Play  continues  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing until  half  past  five  in  the  evening,  with  an  intermission  of  an 
hour  and  a  half  at  noon.  Let  us  avail  ourselves  of  this  interval  to 
relieve  our  minds  from  the  continued  contemplation  of  the  drama,  by 
looking  for  a  moment  on  the  face  of  Joseph  Maier,  while  I  recall 
some  personal  reminiscences  connected  with  him.  Through  the 
special  introduction  of  a  mutual  friend  who  lodged  at  his  house,  I 
was  enabled  to  see  much  of  him  and  to  converse  with  him  in  private. 
His  face,  although  it  cannot  be  called  handsome,  lights  up  in  conver- 
sation with  a  most  agreeable  smile,  while  his  voice  is  singularly  sweet 
and  gentle.  His  complexion  is 
very  pale,  and  his  long,  jet-black 
hair  and  beard  make  this  pallor 
the  more  noticeable. 

His  features  lack  something  of 
the  sweetness  which  we  associate 
with  the  countenance  of  Jesus ; 
yet  their  worn  and  haggard  look 
is,  after  all,  not  wholly  unsuited 
to  one  who  could  say  of  himself 
that  he  had  not  where  to  lay  his 
head.  If  persistent  flattery  from 
the  outside  world  could  spoil  such 
a  man  as  Joseph  Maier,  then 
would  he  assuredly  be  spoiled. 
Crowds  have  beset  his  house  and 
sometimes  forced  themselves  into 
the  retirement  of  his  private 

room,  merely  to  rudely  stare  at  him.  All  this  is  most  offensive  to 
him,  and  more  than  once  I  have  seen  him  look  at  such  intruders  like 
a  stag  at  bay. 

"  If,"  he  once  said,  "  we  country  people  should  go  into  the  city 


JOSEPH  MAIER. 


86  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

and  act  there  as  thousands  of  these  strangers  do  here,  to  what  ridi- 
cule should  we  not  be  justly  exposed  ! " 

But  Maier  has  more  subtle  flattery  than  this.  Letters  have  con- 
tinuously poured  in  upon  him,  expressing  in  various  languages  the 
most  lavish  adulation.  The  contents  of  only  one  of  these  was  I 
permitted  to  know.  It  was  from  a  distinguished  actor  in  Munich, 
who  assured  the  peasant  of  Ober-Amrnergau  that  the  hour  when  he 
took  his  arm  and  walked  with  him  through  his  mountain  village  was 
one  of  the  proudest  of  his  life.  It  is  said  (and  it  is  not  improbable) 
that  Maier  has  sometimes  had  to  seclude  himself  after  the  Play,  to 
avoid  being  almost  worshipped  by  some  of  the  Bavarian  peasants  who 
have  come  that  day  to  well-nigh  identify  him  with  Christ  himself. 

Yet  I  can  truly  say  that  I  never  saw  a  man  more  unaffectedly 
modest  and  simple  than  Joseph  Maier.  The  secret  is,  that  he  is 
thoroughly  sincere.  There  is  no  doubt  of  this.  It  is  not  only  the 
greatest  conceivable  honor  of  his  life  to  represent  the  character  of 
Jesus,  it  is  also  the  most  solemn  of  all  religious  duties;  and  this 
exalted  thought  keeps  him  above  the  taint  of  vanity. 

I  was  astonished  and  pained  to  see  not  long  ago,  in  the  columns 
of  a  New  York  paper,  the  statement  that  most  of  the  people  of  that 
city  who  went  to  see  the  Ober-Ammergau  Passion  Play  of  1880  dis- 
covered there  no  sign  of  reverence  in  the  parts  presented,  and  were 
more  struck  by  the  capacity  of  Maier  to  absorb  beer,  than  by  his 
sacred  aspirations. 

This  statement  seems  to  me  incredible.  I  neither  believe  that  the 
people  of  New  York  were  so  lacking  in  ability  to  discover  simple 
piety  and  intrinsic  merit,  nor  do  I  credit  them  with  slurring  thus 
the  private  character  of  Joseph  Maier.  That  he  may  drink  beer  is 
very  probable.  He  would  not  be  a  German,  if  he  did  not  do  so. 
But  that  he  is  (as  this  would  imply)  a  coarse,  sensual  man,  I  pro- 
nounce unqualifiedly  false.  And  I  do  this,  not  as  a  defender  of 
religion,  nor  as  a  Catholic  or  Protestant,  but  simply  as  a  man  who 
hears  a  worthy  person  slandered  in  his  absence.  I  think  I  may  say 
this  the  more  positively,  not  only  from  what  I  saw  of  Herr  Maier 
myself,  but  from  the  fact  that  a  literary  friend  of  mine  who  lodged 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  87 

nearly  the  whole  summer  at  his  house,  and  is  certainly  qualified  to 
judge  of  his  private  life,  represents  him  as  a  thoroughly  refined, 
modest,  sensitive  man ;  pure  and  blameless  in  life,  unselfish,  and 
devoted  to  his  family. 

Even  without  this  testimony  of  a  member  of  his  household,  I 
should  not  easily  doubt  the  correctness  of  the  estimate  which  I  my- 
self had  made  of  Maier ;  but  with  it,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce 
the  article  in  question  grossly  unjust  to  a  sincere  and  noble-hearted 
man. 

One  picture  of  him  I  can  never  forget.  It  was  on  Sunday  even- 
ing, just  after  the  conclusion  of  the  Passion  Play.  As  I  was  walking 
through  the  village  I  passed  his  house,  and  saw  his  little  children 
run  from  the  door  to  meet  their  father,  who  was  returning  from  the 
theatre  in  his  ordinary  dress.  I  can  see  him  now,  catching  them  up 
and  holding  them  to  his  breast,  while  his  wife  looked  on  from  the 
doorstep  with  a  happy  smile ! 

She,  it  is  said,  never  attends  the  Passion  Play.  She  goes  some- 
times as  far  as  the  enclosure,  and  hears  the  shouts  of  exultation  as 
the  Christ  makes  his  entry  into  the  Holy  City.  But  she  retires  then 
to  her  own  house,  unable  to  behold  the  terrible  scenes  of  suffering  and 
death  which  await  her  husband  on  the  stage,  and  which  there  seem 
so  real  and  vivid  as  to  thrill  the  heart  of  even  a  stranger  from  beyond 
the  sea. 

But  after  this  intermission,  resuming  our  seats  once  more  in  the 
theatre,  we  first  look  upon  the  judgment-hall  of  Caiaphas,  whither 
Maier  has  been  conducted  by  the  soldiers. 

The  High-Priest  trembles  with  hatred  and  rage,  as  the  prisoner  is 
brought  before  him,  exclaiming  angrily,  "  Bring  him  nearer,  that  I 
may  look  upon  his  face."  Finally,  after  hearing  the  testimony  of 
several  witnesses,  he  cries  impetuously,  "  I,  the  High-Priest,  adjure 
thee  by  the  living  God,  —  tell  us,  art  thou  the  Messias,  the  Son  of 
God  ? "  Maier  remains  for  a  moment  silent ;  then  with  calm  dignity 
makes  answer :  "  Thou  hast  said ;  and  hereafter  shall  ye  see  the  Son 
of  Man  coming  in  the  clouds  of  heaven."  At  these  words  Caiaphas 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


CAIAPHAS. 


leaps  from  his  seat,  and  tearing  open  the  breast  of  his  tunic  exclaims, 
"  What  need  have  we  of  further  witnesses  ?     You  have  all  heard  his 

blasphemy.  What  think  ye  ? " 
The  answer  comes  at  once  from 
all,  unanimous  and  strong  : 
"  He  is  guilty  of  death ! " 

Caiaphas  is  evidently  re- 
joiced at  this  verdict,  but  is 
conscious  that  only  a  partial 
victory  is  yet  gamed.  For 
since  Judaea  is  a  Eoman  prov- 
ince, the  sentence  must  be 
ratified  by  the  Eoman  gov- 
ernor, Pilate,  to  whom  the 
victim  is  now  led. 

Thomas  Eendl,  in  his  ren- 
dition of  the  role  of  Pilate, 
unquestionably  ranks  next  to 

Maier  and  the  Judas  in  ability.  For  some  time,  indeed,  the  village 
committee  was  undecided  whether  the  part  of  Christ  should  be  given 
to  him '  or  to  Joseph  Maier.  The  allotment  made,  however,  was  en- 
tirely satisfactory ;  for  throughout  his  entire  role  Pilate  bears  himself 
with  a  dignity  worthy  of  a  Eoman.  His  entry  on  the  scene  is  par- 
ticularly striking.  The  stage  is  largely  covered  with  priests  and 
people,  clamoring  like  hungry  wolves  for  the  death  of  the  false  pro- 
phet and  impostor.  Attended  by  one  or  two  officers,  Pilate  steps 
calmly  forth  upon  his  balcony,  and  in  a  cold,  impartial  voice,  which 
contrasts  finely  with  the  howling  of  the  mob,  inquires  the  meaning 
of  the  uproar.  It  is  admirable  to  see  his  evident  disdain  for  the  pre- 
judiced, fanatical  priests,  as  he  replies  to  their  accusations,  "  No 
Roman  condemns  a  man  unheard.  Let  him  approach ! "  The  scene 
between  the  Christ  and  Pilate  was  to  me  one  of  the  most  interesting 
in  the  entire  drama.  The  Eoman  evidently  regards  him  as  an  inno- 
cent and  unoffending  dreamer.  But  when  Maier  utters  the  words, 
"  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world.  To  this  end  was  I  born,  and 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


89 


for  this  cause  came  I  into  the  world,  that  I  might  bear  witness  to 
the  truth,"  Pilate  looks  at  him  suddenly,  as  though  there  flashed 
upon  his  mind  the  possibility  of  something  deeper  in  the  prisoner's 
thoughts  than  he  had  yet  believed ;  and,  gazing  at  him  keenly,  he 
utters  that  well  known  phrase  (echoed,  alas !  throughout  the  ages  by 
all  thoughtful  men),  "  Was  ist  Wahrheit  ? "  "  What  is  truth  ? " 

AVhile  Pilate  is  thus  hesitating,  a  servant  arrives  in  haste,  bearing 
a  message  from  his  wife,  which  he  begs  to  deliver  immediately. 

With  all  the  eagerness  of  affection,  Pilate  bids  him  approach. 
"What  word  dost  thou  bring  from  my  beloved  wife?"  he  asks  at 
once.  The  servant  answers,  "  She  begs  of  thee  most  earnestly  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
just  man  now  standing  at  thy 
judgment  seat,  for  she  has  suf- 
fered many  things  in  a  dream 
because  of  him."  Pilate  makes 
a  gesture  as  though  this  con- 
firmed his  secret  feelings.  "  Ee- 
turn,"  he  replies  quickly,  "  and 
tell  her  she  need  not  fear  on 
this  account.  I  will  do  all  in 
my  power  to  release  him." 
Then  turning  to  the  priests 
he  asks,  "  Did  you  not  say  he 
was  from  Galilee  ?"  "Yes,"  is 
the  reply  of  many  voices ;  "  he 

comes  from  Nazareth.     He  is  a  PILATE. 

Nazarene."      "In    that    case," 

exclaims  Pilate  joyfully,  "this  is  not  my  affair.  Herod  has  come  from 
Galilee  to  Jerusalem  to  celebrate  the  feast.  Conduct  the  prisoner, 
therefore,  to  his  proper  judge."  With  these  words  he  retires ;  while 
the  priests,  furious  at  this  new  delay,  are  forced  to  conduct  their  vic- 
tim to  a  new  tribunal. 

Let  us  follow  in  his  footsteps  to  where  we  see  a  portion  of  the 
judgment-hall  of  Herod,  with  Maier  standing  on  the  extreme  right. 


90 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


JESUS    BEFORE    HEROD. 


Surrounded  by  his  court  and  a  few  Jewish  priests  still  trembling 
with  rage,  we  see  upon  the  throne  the  fat,  sated  voluptuary,  who 
desires  only  to  be  amused.  Pilate,  notwithstanding  his  weakness, 
inspired  us  with  some  respect ;  but  Herod  fills  us  only  with  disgust. 
He  evidently  looks  on  Jesus  as  demented,  and  wishes  to  have  sport 
at  his  expense.  To  all  his  jests,  however,  Maier  returns  not  a  word 
in  answer,  but  stands  in  statue-like  repose,  as  though  merely  an  ape 
were  chattering  before  him.  Herod  at  last  becomes  enraged,  and 
orders  him  to  be  clad  in  a  royal  robe,  and  exhibited  to  the  people  as 
a  king;  and  when  the  priests  clamor  for  a  judgment  he  replies, 
"  My  judgment  is  that  he  is  a  fool,  and  incapable  of  committing  the 
crimes  which  you  have  laid  to  his  charge."  Then,  declaring  the 
council  ended,  he  exclaims  to  his  courtiers,  "  Come !  let  us  make  up 
for  this  lost  time  with  wine  and  song ! " 

Again,  therefore,  Maier  is  led  back  to  Pilate,  who  once  more 
appears  upon  his  balcony.  Only  a  portion  of  the  multitude  is  here 
portrayed,  but  it  is  in  reality  very  large  and  turbulent.  The  Eoman 
sees  at  once  that  Jesus  is  the  victim  of  an  unreasonable  and  infu- 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU. 


91 


riated  mob !  All  now  depends  upon  his  firmness.  He  evidently 
cannot  bear  to  condemn  him,  rightly  regarding  it  as  a  mean  and 
cowardly  act.  He  therefore  adopts  another  plan  of  rescue,  by  order- 
ing the  thief  Barabbas  to  be  brought  before  him  from  his  dungeon. 

With  an  imperious  gesture,  he  orders  the  two  prisoners  to  stand 
thus  side  by  side  beneath  his  balcony.  He  smiles  with  satisfaction 
as  he  surveys  the  contrast,  confident  that  he  has  gained  the  victory. 
He  might  well  do  so.  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  detestable 
than  this  grisly  old  man,  who  seems  half  idiotic  as  he  shuffles  out 
from  prison,  clad  in  a  greasy  gown  ? 

Pilate  points  to  him  significantly,  and  exclaims,  as  though  put- 
ting an  argument,  which  must  prove  conclusive,  "  Look  ye  upon 
these  two,  and  choose  which  of  them,  according  to  custom,  I  shall 
at  this  time  release  to  you."  Immediately  five  hundred  hoarse 
voices  cry,  again  and  again,  in  a  tone  which  chills  our  blood,  "  Not 
this  man,  but  Barabbas !  Jesus  to  the  cross  !  Crucify  him  !  Crucify 
him ! " 


CHRIST   AND   BARABBAS    BEFORE    PILATE. 


92 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


Pilate  stands  for  a  moment  in  dumb  amazement.  Then  he  turns 
and  looks  in  pity  on  the  man  whom  they  are  thus  relentlessly  hound- 
ing unto  death.  The  cry  grows  louder,  "  If  thou  condemnest  not  this 
would-be  king,  thou  art  not  Caesar's  friend."  The  one  weak  point  is 
reached.  The  Koman  governor  hesitates  and  yields ;  yet,  as  he  does 
so,  he  breaks  his  sceptre,  exclaiming  in  disgust,  "  Such  a  people  as 
this  I  cannot  comprehend."  Then,  as  if  terrified  at  what  he  had 
done,  he  calls  for  water  and  washes  his  hands  before  the  multitude, 
exclaiming  fiercely,  "  Bear  me  witness !  bear  me  witness  !  /  find  no 
fault  in  him.  I  wash  my  hands  of  his  innocent  blood."  Scarcely 

have  these  words  fallen  from  his 
lips,  when  the  Jews  cry  out  again, 
in  tones  that  echo  over  the  adjoin- 
ing hills,  "His  blood  be  on  us  and 
on  our  children !  " 

From  this  point  on,  the  tragic 
scenes  grow  more  and  more  in- 
tense. Let  us  look,  for  example, 
upon  the  spectacle  of  the  scourg- 
ing. The  curtain  rises,  and  re- 
veals upon  the  central  stage  the 
graceful  form  of  Maier  bound 
to  a  column.  His  garments  are 
already  stained  with  blood,  and 
amid  rude  mockery  the  soldiers 
are  beating  him  with  ropes,  the 
blows  from  which  sound  real  and 
terrible.  Yet  not  a  groan  escapes 
the  sufferer's  lips.  With  a  look 

of  agony  upon  his  face  he  stands  there  patiently  enduring  all,  until  at 
last  his  strength  can  bear  no  more.  He  reels.  They  loosen  the  rope, 
and  he  falls  senseless  to  the  ground.  But  even  this  is  not  enough ; 
for,  no  sooner  has  he  recovered  consciousness  than  the  soldiers  resume 
their  brutal  sport.  They  place  a  sceptre  in  his  hands ;  they  seat  him 

on  a  stool  which  they  call  a  throne,  bowing  before  him,  and  doing 

w 


BAB.ABBAS. 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  ODER-AMMERGAU. 


93 


reverence  with  vulgar  jests.  Yes,  more  than  this ;  they  blindfold  his 
eyes  and  strike  him  011  the  face,  saying,  "  Prophesy,  0  King,  who  thy 
next  assailant  will  be ! "  Finally,  they  go  so  far  as  to  push  him 
headlong  off  the  stool,  and  he  falls  forward  on  the  floor. 


THE    SCOURGING. 


All  this  is  certainly  gross  and  brutal;  yet  perhaps  it  does  not 
exceed  the  facts  of  history.  Through  it  all,  however,  we  must  bear 
in  mind  that  Maier  never  sacrifices  for  a  moment  his  kingly  dignity. 
All  the  abuse  of  his  persecutors  recoils  upon  themselves;  and  we 
lose  not  a  particle  of  our  admiration  for  the  noble  man  who  never 
stoops  to  make  complaint,  but  bears  it  all  with  silent  heroism. 

Finally,  however,  the  climax  of  their  treatment  is  reached  when 
one  of  them  proposes  to  add  to  his  regal  appearance  by  crowning  the 
sufferer  with  thorns !  The  crown  is  quickly  plaited,  and  amid  brutal 
exultation  is  placed  upon  his  pallid  brow. 

Then,  in  order  not  to  wound  their  own  hands,  four  of  them  take 
hold  of  sticks  and  mercilessly  press  the  thorns  down  into  the  bleeding 
flesh.  At  this  moment  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  audience  who  does 


94 


RED-LETTER   J)AYS  ABROAD. 


not  long  to  leap  upon  the  stage  and  rescue  Maier  from  such  out- 
rageous torture ;  while  the  excited,  breathless  look  upon  the  peasants' 
faces  indicates  how  deeply  they  are  moved  by  all  this  realism. 


THE    CROWN   OF   THORNS. 

One  of  the  most  impressive  scenes  in  the  great  tragedy  is  that 
which  represents  the  multitude  accompanying  Jesus  to  his  cruci- 
fixion. It  is  most  imposing;  for  the  crowd  numbers  hundreds  of 
people.  Among  them  is  the  Eoman  Centurion  on  horseback,  before 
whom  is  borne  a  standard  with  the  inscription,  "  S.  P.  Q.  E."  (Senatus 
Populusque  Romanus).  Most  of  the  multitude  are  filling  the  air  with 
taunts  and  jeering  cries ;  and  in  their  midst  we  see  at  length  the 
doomed  man  moving  slowly,  staggering  at  every  step,  and  dragging 
his  heavy  cross,  beneath  which  he  seems  at  every  moment  about  to 
fall.  As  he  passes  one  of  the  houses  on  the  right,  there  is  enacted 
the  legend  of  the  wandering  Jew.  A  man  appears  at  the  doorway 
and  bids  the  Christ  be  gone,  and  not  disgrace  his  house  by  linger- 
ing before  it.  Maier  raises  his  weary  head  and  fixes  on  the  man 
one  piercing  look.  It  is  enough.  The  haunted  wretch  turns  and 
disappears,  to  find  (according  to  the  legend)  no  rest  hereafter  upon 
earth, — not  even  that  of  the  grave. 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  95 

The  procession  meantime  draws  slowly  nearer  to  Calvary.  The 
attention  of  the  audience,  which  has  never  flagged  through  all  these 
hours,  now  becomes  almost  painfully  intensified.  For  the  movement 
of  the  cortege  is  very  slow,  owing  to  the  extreme  weakness  of  the 
condemned,  who  at  last,  utterly  exhausted,  wavers,  and,  borne  down 
by  the  cross,  falls  twice  heavily  to  the  ground.  On  each  occasion, 
however,  he  is  goaded  up  and  onward  by  the  soldiers,  who  have  no 
mercy  on  his  weakness.  The  Eoman  Centurion  alone  seems  more 
humane.  He  offers  him  a  flagon  of  water,  saying  kindly,  "  Here, 
refresh  thyself."  The  weary  sufferer  drinks,  and  attempts  to  rise, 
but  cannot  do  so.  A  number  of  the  women  of  Jerusalem  stand  near 
him  at  this  moment,  weeping  at  his  fate.  Maier  turns  his  face  toward 
them,  exclaiming  with  courageous  firmness,  "  Daughters  of  Jerusalem, 
weep  not  for  me,  but  rather  for  yourselves  and  for  your  children ! " 
Among  them  is  the  legendary  Veronica,  who  offers  him  her  handker- 
chief to  wipe  his  brow.  Maier  takes  it,  presses  it  to  his  face,  and 
returns  it  to  the  weeping  woman  with  his  blessing.  "  Eemove  these 
women!"  orders  the  Centurion.  The  soldiers  promptly  obey,  and 
rudely  thrust  them  aside,  while  the  procession  passes  slowly  on. 

Meanwhile,  down  the  street,  at  the  left  of  the  stage,  have  been 
advancing  Mary  the  mother  of  Jesus,  Mary  Magdalene,  and  the  dis- 
ciple John.  They  do  not  know  yet  of  the  condemnation  of  Jesus, 
until,  alarmed  by  their  own  fears  and  the  increasing  tumult,  they 
approach  the  procession.  A  thrilling  moment  ensues  when  Mary 
recognizes  in  the  suffering  man  —  her  son !  With  a  piercing  cry 


ON   THE    WAY    TO    CALVAKY. 


96 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


she  falls  into  the  arms  of  Mary  Magdalene,  exclaiming  in  anguish, 
"Oh,  my  God !  it  is  my  son,  —  my  Jesus  ! " 

A  few  moments  later,  when  the  procession  has  disappeared,  and 
while  the  chorus  (this  time  robed  in  black)  are  singing  their  sad 
chant,  we  hear  behind  the  curtain  the  heavy  blows  of  a  hammer,  and 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  scene  which  these  ominous  sounds 


TTTE    CKUCTFIXION. 

foretell.  Another  moment,  and  the  curtain  rises  to  reveal  to  us  the 
scene  of  Calvary.  The  crosses  of  the  two  thieves  are  erect  on  either 
side,  with  the  malefactors  simply  bound  to  them  by  ropes,  no  pre- 
tence being  made  in  their  case  of  crucifixion.  In  the  centre,  the  cross 
of  Jesus  is  at  first  prostrate.  The  soldiers  are  on  the  point  of  lifting 
it ;  but  there  is  an  instant's  delay,  for  the  priests  have  read  the  title 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  97 

sent  by  Pilate  to  decorate  the  cross,  and  are  enraged  at  it.  They  will 
not  have  it  so,  and  have  sent  the  messenger  back  to  the  Eoman  gov- 
ernor, insisting  that  the  inscription  shall  not  read,  "  This  is  Jesus, 
the  King  of  the  Jews,"  but  rather,  "  He  said,  I  am  the  King  of  the 
Jews."  Pilate,  however,  returns  the  paper  with  his  well-known 
words :  "  What  I  have  written,  I  have  written."  As  if  rejoicing  to 
outwit  the  priests,  the  Eoman  centurion  then  seizes  the  paper,  and, 
with  one  blow  from  the  hammer,  nails  it  just  above  the  sufferer's 
head. 

As  the  cross  was  slowly  raised  to  the  perpendicular,  and  Maier 
was  seen  suspended  thus  upon  it,  I  caught  my  breath,  in  fearful  dread 
lest  it  should  fall  forward  and  precipitate  him  to  the  ground ;  for  he 
apparently  had  no  support  whatever.  Not  a  trace  of  any  ligament 
could  be  discerned,  and  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  he  was  not  actually 
nailed  to  the  cross. 

Let  me  at  once  explain  this  illusion.  Maier  wears  beneath  his 
tightly  fitting  suit  of  silk  a  strong  corset,  into  the  back  of  which  are 
fastened  iron  rings,  which  clasp  into  corresponding  rings  in  the  body 
of  the  cross.  These  constitute  his  only  real  support ;  although  a  very 
tiny  piece  of  wood  is  placed  beneath  one  heel,  and  the  nails  driven 
between  his  fingers  give  the  slightest  possible  relief  to  his  extended 
arms.  At  best,  however,  to  hang  there  as  he  does  for  twenty  minutes 
is,  as  he  himself  assured  me,  exceedingly  exhausting.  The  realism 
in  all  this  is  terrible.  Apparently  we  see  the  blood-stained  nails 
piercing  both  hands  and  feet.  The  crown  of  thorns  still  wounds  his 
forehead ;  his  garments  are  still  marked  with  the  blood  of  the  scourg- 
ing ;  and,  most  trying  of  all,  when  the  centurion's  spear  pierces  his 
side,  the  point  enters  a  little  sac  concealed  beneath  his  flesh-colored 
tunic,  and  actual  blood  spurts  forth  ! 

The  figure  of  Maier,  as  it  hangs  upon  the  cross,  is  remarkably 
beautiful  and  impressive.  In  a  mere  physical  point  of  view,  it  is 
completely  satisfactory.  Maier  is  a  man  more  than  six  feet  tall, 
and  has  a  form  that  a  sculptor  might  covet  for  a  model.  As  he 
hangs  thus  upon  the  cross,  relieved  against  the  dark  background  of 
the  inner  stage,  I  can  truly  say  that  I  have  never  seen  a  crucifix  in 

7 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


marble,  ivory,  or  painting, 
which  seemed  to  me  more 
beautiful. 

His  words  also,  uttered 
from  this  position,  are  spoken 
with  inimitable  tenderness. 
Never  shall  I  forget  the  first 
sentence  which  he  spoke. 
Our  nerves  had  been  strained 
to  their  utmost  tension  by 
his  previous  sufferings  and 
present  pitiful  position,  when 
we  heard  him,  in  a  voice 
broken  with  pain,  answer  the 
railings  of  the  mocking  crowd 
below  him  with  the  words : 
"  Father,  forgive  them  ;  they 
know  not  what  they  do  ! " 

Soon   after,    he   turns   his 
weary  eyes  from  his  mother 

to  the   beloved   disciple,   and  exclaims,  with   indescribable   pathos, 
"Mutter,  siehe  Deinen  Sohn !     Sohn,  siehe  Deine  Mutter!" 

All  the  details  are  carried  out  just  as  narrated  in  the  Gospels. 
The  soldiers  cast  lots  for  his  garments.     The  sponge  is  held  to  his 
parched  lips ;    and  the  mysterious,  awful  words  are  uttered :   "  My 
God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ? "     But,  finally,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  end  draws  near.     With  a  loud  voice  he  cries  at  last : 
"  Father,  into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit." 
His  head  droops  wearily  upon  his  breast. 
It  is  finished ! 


IT    IS    FINISHED. 


The  descent  from  the  cross  is  now  enacted.  Two  ladders  are 
placed  against  the  cross,  one  in  front,  the  other  in  the  rear.  Nico- 
demus  ascends  the  ladder  in  the  rear,  and  tenderly  draws  out  the 
nails  from  the  hands.  The  arms  are  then  gently  laid  upon  the 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  99 

shoulders  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  who  is  on  the  ladder  before 
the  cross.  Then,  by  means  of  a  roll  of  linen  cloth,  the  body  is 
gradually  lowered  to  the  ground.  Nicodenius,  Joseph,  and  John 
then  lift  the  body  with  loving  touch,  and,  with  a  perfection  of  skill 
and  tender  reverence,  lay  it  at  Mary's  feet,  the  head  resting  on  her 
lap. 

What  particularly  enhanced  the  pathos  of  this  and  other  tragic 


THE  DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS. 


scenes,  was  the  fact  that  they  occurred  thus  under  the  open  sky,  as 
if  in  actual  life.  The  lights  and  shadows  of  the  clouds  fall  on  the 
form  of  Jesus  hanging  on  the  cross ;  the  breeze  stirs  the  mantle  of 
his  weeping  mother ;  the  birds  flit  lightly  back  and  forth  above  the 
stage,  as  they  perhaps  once  did  on  Calvary  itself,  blithely  unconscious, 
now  as  then,  of  human  tragedy  and  woe. 


100 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


One  other  scene  of  the  Passion  Play  remains  to  be  considered,  — 
that  of  the  Resurrection.  Like  all  the  rest,  it  is  admirably  managed. 
The  central  curtain  rises  and  reveals  the  Roman  guards  watching 
before  the  tomb  of  Jesus.  At  first  they  speak  of  the  awful  phenom- 
ena attendant  on  the  crucifixion;  but  finally  they  fall  asleep,  and 
all  is  still.  Suddenly  a  crash  as  of  a  thunder-peal  is  heard.  The 
door  of  the  sepulchre  falls  prostrate,  and  for  an  instant  Maier  is  seen 
within  the  doorway  clad  in  a  glittering  mantle,  and  with  a  look  of 


THE   KESURRECTION. 

triumph  on  his  pallid  face.  The  next  moment  two  gilded  gates 
spring  from  the  tomb  on  either  side,  and  meet  before  him  as  a 
dazzling  screen  of  light.  Another  instant,  and  they  are  once  more 
thrown  back.  But  the  Christ  is  gone.  We  have  beheld  the  vision 
of  the  Resurrection. 

The  Passion  Play  was  ended.  The  last  visitor  had  left  the  theatre. 
The  curtain  of  the  night  had  fallen  on  the  earth.  No  sound  was 
audible  within  the  valley.  The  stars  looked  down  upon  the  peaceful 


THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBER-AMMERGAU.  101 

village  and  on  the  uncovered  stage,  where  through  the  day  the  awful 
history  of  the  Son  of  Man  had  been  again  rehearsed  with  an  em- 
phasis and  pathos  whose  power  and  influence  were  overwhelming. 

As  I  walked  thoughtfully  that  evening  through  the  quiet  town, 
realizing  that  on  the  morrow  I  was  to  turn  away  forever  from  its 
peaceful  valley  to  mingle  once  more  with  the  outer  world,  I  could 
but  feel  that,  among  all  the  thousands  gathered  there  that  day,  — 
however  various  might  have  been  their  individual  beliefs  concerning 
the  great  Teacher  whose  life  had  been  so  forcibly  portrayed, — hap- 
pily, difference  in  creed  had  not  implied  a  lack  of  reverence  or  appre- 
ciation. No,  if  our  souls  are  responsive  to  all  that  is  divinely  great 
and  pure  in  every  form  of  faith,  we  can  easily  find  ourselves  in  sym- 
pathy with  those  who  see  in  this  sacred  drama  a  form  of  their 
religion,  cherished  through  generations  as  a  precious  privilege,  and 
hallowed  by  centuries  of  historical  associations.  And  having  once 
attained  this  sympathy,  I  venture  to  affirm  that,  though  thousands 
of  miles  removed  from  Ober-Ammergau,  the  memory  of  this  idyllic 
hamlet  on  the  heights,  and  of  the  drama  there  enacted,  will  con- 
stantly recur  to  us,  as  though  some  Spirit  from  a  better  world  were 
breathing  on  our  souls  its  benediction. 


THE   CITIES   OF   THE   CZAK. 


I. 

ST.    PETEESBUEG. 

EVEN  in  these  well-regulated  days  of  trains  and  telegraphs,  a 
journey  to  Eussia  offers  to  the  traveller  that  element  of  mys- 
tery and  fascination,  which  few  countries  are  now  fortunate  enough 
to  possess.  The  enormity  of  its  area,  its  incomprehensible  language, 
its  immense  railway  distances,  the  ceaseless  espionage  of  its  secret 
police,  the  deeds  of  violence  within  its  borders,  — all  these  invest  a 
journey  to  the  country  of  the  Czar  with  a  kind  of  dread  and  diffi- 
culty, beside  which  a  trip  to  any  other  part  of  Europe  seems  a  mere 
bagatelle.  For  Eussia  is  still  a  country  of  most  violent  extremes ; 
a  land  of  splendor  and  of  barbarism,  of  lavish  wealth  and  utter 
poverty ;  a  land  the  rigor  of  whose  frightful  climate  conquered  the 
otherwise  invincible  Napoleon  and  snapped  with  its  keen  frosts  the 
pillars  of  his  throne ;  a  land  where  millions  tremble  at  the  breath  of 
one,  whose  will  is  fettered  by  no  constitution ;  a  land  whose  prison  is 
that  Siberian  realm  of  ice,  whither  so  many  long  trams  of  wretched 
captives  have  passed  to  linger  hopelessly  in  living  tombs ;  a  land 
whose  smouldering  fires  of  discontent  and  hatred,  fanned  by  the 
ardent  breath  of  Nihilism,  are  constantly  breaking  out  into  rebellion 
and  assassination. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  very  naturally  occurred  to  us,  as 
we  drove  through  the  brilliant  streets  of  Berlin  to  take  the  midnight 
train  for  St.  Petersburg.  Our  passports  had  been  duly  examined 
and  vised  by  the  Eussian  consul.  Our  German  gold  had  meta- 


106  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

morphosed  itself  into  roubles  and  copecks.  In  a  few  moments  we 
should  start  for  the  capital  of  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias.  What  an 
excitement  always  attends  one's  departure  for  a  strange  land !  How 
many  half-forgotten  pages  relating  to  its  character  and  history,  how 
many  legends  of  its  people,  how  many  pictures  of  its  cities,  throng 
confusedly  upon  the  mind,  as  one  really  sets  out  upon  his  journey 
thither !  Thus  all  sorts  of  curious  souvenirs  occurred  to  each  of  us 
about  the  land  we  were  to  visit.  One  spoke  of  the  novels  of  the 
great  Russian  romancer,  Tourgueneff,  and  recalled  incidents  in  his 
"  King  Lear  of  the  Steppes ; "  another  shuddered  at  the  recollection 
of  tales  of  Siberian  sufferings  ;  a  third  spoke  of  "  The  Exiles,"  the 
drama  which  was  recently  so  successful  in  Boston;  while  another 
opportunely  remembered  a  story  read  in  childhood,  of  wolves  pursu- 
ing travellers  across  the  Russian  fields.  At  once  the  old  familiar 
picture  recurred  to  all  of  us,  of  the  terrified  horses,  the  reeling 
sleigh,  the  mother  clasping  her  children  in  her  arms,  and  the  father 
preparing  even  to  throw  one  of  his  little  ones  to  the  howling  wolves 
to  stop  them  in  their  wild  career!  These  were  some  of  the  old 
reminiscences  suggested  to  us  on  a  murky  July  night,  as  we  rode 
beneath  a  sullen  sky  to  the  Eastern  station,  of  Berlin. 

An  arduous  undertaking  has  usually  the  compensation  of  special 
efforts  made  to  reduce  its  difficulty  to  a  minimum.  Thus  upon  this 
long  route  we  found  sleeping-cars ;  a  luxury  so  rare  in  Europe  that 
we  fully  appreciated  their  comforts,  which  moreover  reminded  us  of 
home.  In  some  respects  these  foreign  sleeping-cars  differ  from  our 
own.  They  are  considerably  wider,  and  the  aisle,  instead  of  extend- 
ing along  the  centre,  passes  down  the  side  of  the  car.  Out  of  this 
corridor  (lined  with  windows)  doors  open  into  little  staterooms, 
some  arranged  for  two,  others  for  four  beds.  In  the  daytime  these 
berths  are  transformed  into  sofas,  and  a  pretty  table  is  made  to  take 
the  place  of  what  appeared  the  night  before  to  be  only  a  flight  of 
steps.  The  cost  of  these  luxuries,  however,  is  much  more  than  in 
America. 

A  description  of  our  journey  through  northeastern  Prussia  would 
be  uninteresting.  We  passed  the  time  in  sleeping,  whist-playing  and 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.— ST.   PETERSBURG.  107 

reading ;  or  if  we  looked  out  of  the  windows  we  beheld  a  long  suc- 
cession of  cheerless  fields,  dotted  here  and  there  with  melancholy 
windmills,  and  interrupted  only  at  rare  intervals  by  towns  whose 
principal  building  seemed  to  be  the  railroad  station.  Only  once 
or  twice  a  city,  like  Konigsberg,  or  a  noble  bridge,  like  that  which 
spans  the  Vistula,  broke  the  monotony  of  the  scenery.  At  last, 
about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  (sixteen  hours  from  Berlin),  we 
halted  at  the  last  German  town  and  prepared  to  cross  the  frontier. 

Nothing  else  in  life  is  quite  like  the  sensation  which  the  traveller 
experiences  when  he  stands  for  the  first  time  upon  the  threshold  of 
an  unknown  land.  Just  two  months  before,  we  had  passed  with 
beating  hearts  within  the  portals  of  the  Pyrenees  and  sought  admis- 
sion to  the  country  of  the  Moors.  Now  we  were  setting  our  faces 
in  exactly  the  opposite  direction,  and  thousands  of  miles  away  were 
craving  entrance  to  the  kingdom  of  the  Czar.  Here,  however,  no 
river,  as  in  Spain,  trailed  like  a  silver  cord  between  the  two  great 
empires.  No  mountains  reared  here,  as  in  southern  France,  their 
mighty  bulwarks  of  defence.  We  could  discover  no  line  of  demar- 
cation whatever.  Yet  "there  was  a  time,  we  knew  not  when, — 
a  place,  we  knew  not  where,"  that  sealed  our  destinies  as  Eussian 
tourists ;  for  in  a  few  moments  our  locomotive  had  drawn  us  noise- 
lessly and  swiftly  from  the  realm  of  Kaiser  Wilhelm  to  that  of  the 
Czar  Alexander,  and  we  had  set  foot  upon  the  soil  of  Russia. 

The  first  person  whom  we  encountered  on  descending  from  the 
car  was,  as  we  had  expected,  a  police  officer,  who  demanded  our  pass- 
ports. Delivering  these  to  him,  we  followed  our  baggage  into  a  large 
hall  and  waited  patiently  for  half  an  hour,  while  a  group  of  officials 
scrutinized  our  passports,  as  though  they  were  holding  a  council  of 
war.  At  first  my  sympathy  was  excited  in  behalf  of  these  men,  so 
incessantly  did  they  appear  to  be  hawking,  coughing,  sneezing  and 
expectorating.  After  a  little  time,  however,  I  discovered  that  these 
sounds  were  caused  by  the  simple  utterance  of  the  Eussian  language. 
If  you  think  this  is  an  exaggeration,  try  to  pronounce  a  few  of  the 
easiest  Eussian  words  and  see  if  your  friends  do  not  believe  that 
you  are  suffering  from  "  hay  fever."  Here  are  a  few  for  practice : 


108  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

SchtcM  (soup)  ;  Potchdmpt  (post-office)  ;  Hdrosho  (very  well)  ;  SpitchJd 
(matches)  ;  Gornitctmaya  (chamber-maid)  ;  Ptitsa  (bird). 

We  had  been  so  frequently  told  that  at  all  the  Russian  stations 
French  and  German  were  spoken,  that  we  had  not  anticipated  the 
slightest  difficulty.  Of  course,  both  of  these  languages  did  serve 
us  many  a  good  turn,  but  there  were  times  when  nothing  but  the 
unadulterated,  influenza-like  Eussian  was  of  any  avail,  and  we  had 
to  resort  to  the  most  comical  signs  and  grimaces.  For  example, 
after  being  released  from  the  Custom  House,  we  prepared  to  enter 
our  first  Russian  train.  Having  tickets  for  a  sleeping-car,  we  sought 
to  find  it.  I  addressed  several  officials  in  French  and  German  ;  but 
the  replies  thus  elicited  were  so  unearthly  that  I  gave  it  up,  and 
selected  the  best-looking  car  at  a  venture.  Do  you  ask  why  we  did 
not  read  its  name  or  consult  the  guide-boards  to  help  us  out  of  our 
difficulties  ?  But  did  you  ever  see  the  Russian  text  ?  Let  us  have  a 
specimen  of  it  outlined  before  us. 


IV.   Omb  uMnepamopCKaio  aACKcandpoecKaio  ynueepcumema  ea 

HMnepaiopCKift  ajeKcaHflpoBCiuH  yHEBepCHTert  Bt  FejiLCHHr^opcij,  Kant  BticraiH 
npeflCTaBHxe.xb  yMCTBeiraoH  ansHH  BejHKaro  KnaacecTBa  $HHjraHji,CKaro,  oxHocaci.  ct 
yHacxieMt  Ki  TopatecTBy  npejciaBHTejiefi  jyxoBHofi  3KH3UH  Bcefi  Poccin, 
nuni  BT>  MocKBi  cfiixjiyK)  naMait  BejHKaro  pyccicaro  noaxa,  AjeK- 
CeprieBHia  IlymKHHa,  nopy^ajn.  OAHOMy  HSI,  CBOHXI  sacjiyacoHHiixt  npocj)e- 
copoBt,  CienaHy 


It  is  very  pretty  to  look  at,  as  a  set  of  hieroglyphics,  but  hardly 
what  one  would  choose  for  light  reading  when  in  the  hurry  of  travel  ! 
Those  recipes  for  sneezing  which  I  cited  a  moment  ago  become  still 
more  fearful  when  consolidated  into  Russian  type.  Take  two  dozen 
of  our  letters,  turn  them  upside-down  or  backwards,  make  mono- 
grams of  them,  sprinkle  in  a  few  figures,  add  as  many  Greek  charac- 
ters, and  then  elongate  them  hap-hazard  into  words  of  various 
dimensions,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  the  Russian  alphabet, 
as  it  appears  to  the  naked  eye  of  one  not  versed  in  its  mysteries.  Giv- 
ing up  the  language  therefore,  as  a  hopeless  task,  let  us  turn  our  at- 
tention to  the  route  between  the  frontier  and  St.  Petersburg.  At  one 
place  our  train  stopped  at  Kovno  on  the  river  Niemen,  where  the 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.— ST.  PETERSBURG.  109 

grand  army  of  France,  on  the  23d  of  June,  1812,  crossed  the  stream 
on  their  advance  to  Moscow ;  and  some  rising  ground  near  by  is  still 
called  "  Napoleon's  Jfill."  Six  months  later,  the  French  recrossed 
this  river  in  the  same  place,  after  sufferings  which  have  had  no  paral- 
lel in  the  annals  of  war.  In  the  market-place  of  the  town  is  a  monu- 
ment with  this  inscription:  "In  1812  Eussia  was  invaded  by  an 
army  numbering  seven  hundred  thousand  men.  The  army  recrossed 
the  frontier  numbering  seventy  thousand !  "  Another  halting-place 
was  Wilna,  whose  population  even  as  late  as  the  fourteenth  century 
was  pagan,  and  where,  less  than  four  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  a 
perpetual  fire  was  kept  burning  to  the  honor  of  the  heathen  gods.  It 
was  at  Wilna  that  Napoleon  left  his  retreating  army  and  hastened 
on  to  Paris  to  quiet  there  a  threatened  insurrection.  Twenty  thou- 
sand wounded  and  half-frozen  Frenchmen  were  found  here  by  the 
pursuing  Russians,  and  in  one  hospital  alone  Alexander  beheld 
seven  thousand,  five  hundred  dead  bodies  piled  one  above  the  other ! 
How  horrible  are  the  calamities  of  war ! 

Although  it  was  after  midnight  when  we  passed  this  city,  yet  it 
was  not  dark.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  could  read  a  letter 
perfectly  without  the  aid  of  artificial  light.  Only  a  short  time  be- 
fore, we  had  watched  the  sun  set  in  splendor.  In  two  hours  it  would 
rise  again.  Truly,  in  summer,  the  god  of  day  seems  to  be  troubled 
with  insomnia  in  Eussia  ! 

As  this  prolonged  twilight  is  not  conducive  to  our  own  slumbers, 
let  us  step  out  upon  the  station  platform.  There  is  plenty  of  time. 
Russian  trains  go  slowly,  and  make  long  stops.  Moreover,  there  is 
no  danger  of  being  left,  for  three  warning  bells  are  always  sounded 
preparatory  to  the  start.  Here,  as  at  most  stations,  is  a  large  refresh- 
ment room.  We  naturally  direct  our  steps  thither,  for  the  keen 
night  air  of  Eussia  gives  us  an  appetite. 

On  entering  we  see  a  characteristic  Eussian  sight,  which  the 
traveller  will  never  forget.  Besides  the  usual  display  of  viands 
which  might  be  found  in  any  railway  restaurant  in  Europe,  we 
behold  here  a  peculiarity  of  Eussia.  Upon  a  long  table  are  perhaps 
one  hundred  glass  tumblers,  each  containing  two  lumps  of  sugar  and 


110 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


a  spoon.  Beside  each  glass  also  is  a  slice  of  lemon.  Any  one  but  a 
resident  of  Maine  would  instantly  suspect  from  these  indications  the 
formation  of  a  whiskey  punch ;  for  behind  these  suspicious-looking 

glasses  stand  several  persons, 
pouring  alternately  from  two 
pitchers  something  which, 
when  combined,  glows  with 
the  color  of  a  dark  ruby. 
All  our  fellow-passengers 
hasten  at  once  to  enjoy  this 
Russian  nectar.  In  fact, 
Russian  trains  move  slowly 
and  make  long  stops  for 
the  special  purpose,  I  verily 
believe,  of  allowing  both 
passengers  and  officials  to 
refresh  themselves  with  this 
great  national  drink  of  Rus- 
sia, namely,  Tea. 

But  what  tea !  Not  such 
as  even  the  best  American 
merchants  sell ;  not  such  as 

any  of  my  untravelled  readers  have  ever  tasted ;  for,  boast  of  your 
oolong  and  your  souchong  as  much  as  you  like,  vaunt  to  the 
skies  the  English  breakfast  tea  which  Bridget  makes  for  you  every 
morning,  you  have  no  idea  how  truly  delicious  tea  can  be,  until 
you  come  to  Russia !  Is  it  in  its  preparation  that  it  acquires 
such  an  exquisite  flavor,  or  is  the  secret  in  the  tea  itself  ?  The  Rus- 
sians, of  course,  say  the  latter,  and  add  that,  as  their  tea  is  brought 
overland  from  China,  it  has  a  much  more  delicate  taste  than  that 
which  is  conveyed  to  other  parts  of  the  world  by  sea.  The  prepara- 
tion, indeed,  seems  simple  enough.  A  large  urn,  called  the  samovar, 
contains  the  precious  liquid,  which  is  kept  continually  heated  by 
gas-jets  beneath.  When  it  is  served,  about  two  tablespoonfuls  are 
poured  into  the  tumbler,  to  which  is  added  three  times  as  much  hot 


RUSSIAN   TEA-DRINKERS. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG.  Ill 

water.  A  slice  of  lemon  is  then  launched  upon  its  surface,  and  the 
nectar  is  ready  to  be  imbibed.  If  it  be  objected  that  the  tea  is  boil- 
ing hot,  I  cannot  deny  that  for  a  few  moments  this  fact  detracts 
from  the  pleasure  of  the  tea-drinker;  but  it  is  an  inconvenience 
which  quickly  disappears,  and  can  hardly,  indeed,  be  reckoned  as  a 
fault  when  the  long  Eussian  winter  returns  from  its  brief  leave  of 
absence. 

Eussia  has  its  blemishes,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see.  Eussia  has 
discomforts,  annoyances,  dirt,  beggars,  ignorance  and  vice.  But  it 
possesses  two  things  which  cover  a  multitude  of  sins,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  which  will  long  outlast  even  that  of  the  bite  of  Moscow  fleas, 
—  namely,  Eussian  bread,  and  above  all  Eussian  TEA  !  In  fact,  the 
Eussian  word  Tchai  (Tea)  is  a  most  important  one  for  the  traveller 
to  the  land  of  the  Czar  to  learn  at  the  very  start,  not  only  that 
he  may  ask  for  the  precious  beverage  himself,  but  because  when 
Eussian  coachmen  or  servants  solicit  a  fee,  instead  of  the  Pourboire 
of  the  French,  the  Buona  mano  of  the  Italians,  the  Trinkgeld  of 
Germany  and  the  Backsheesh  of  the  Orient,  we  shall  hear  only  the 
magic  words,  "  Na  tchai,"  —  "  For  tea  !  " 

It  is  now  seven  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  shall  soon  be  in 
St.  Petersburg ;  yet  the  scenery  is  unchanged.  Through  dreary,  un- 
cultivated wastes  we  have  ridden  all  day  long ;  but,  since  there  are  no 
distinguishing  features  in  the  landscape,  we  might  fancy  ourselves 
just  where  we  were  twelve  hours  ago.  Amid  these  desolate  wilds 
and  stunted  forests,  within  an  hour's  ride  of  the  Czar's  capital, 
bears,  elk  and  wolves  are  yearly  killed  in  large  numbers.  A  fine 
place  Eussia  would  be  for  a  train  to  break  down  in  some  winter 
night,  when  the  mercury  marked  thirty  degrees  below  zero,  and  the 
wolves  wanted  a  free  ride !  But  accidents  do  not  often  happen  on 
Eussian  railroads.  Perhaps  when  we  send  our  careless  railroad 
managers  to  cool  off  in  Alaska  after  a  mishap,  we  also  shall  travel  in 
security.  But  at  length  there  comes  an  end  to  the  monotony  of  the 
journey,  and  we  suddenly  behold  rising  before  us,  like  some  strange 
exhalation  from  the  deep,  St.  Petersburg,  the  famous  city  of  the 
Czar!  In  amazement  then  at  the  contrast  between  these  stately 


112 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


ST.    PETERSBURG. 


buildings  and  the  desolate  land  through  which  we  have  been  trav- 
elling, we  naturally  ask  ourselves,  How  was  it  that  a  city  ever  came 
to  be  built  in  so  strange  a  spot  as  this,  hardly  above  the  level  of  the 
sea,  and  almost  within  the  Arctic  Circle  ? 

Have  you  ever  seen  the  Russian  coat  of  arms  ?     If  so,  you  remem- 
ber the  immense  double-headed  eagle  of  Eussia,  one  head  turned 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.— ST.  PETERSBURG.  113 

toward  Asia,  and  the  other  toward  Europe.  Peter  the  Great  (the 
most  remarkable  of  the  Eussian  Czars)  desired  to  have  in  his  king- 
dom what  he  called  "  a  window  through  which  this  Eussian  eagle 
could  look  out  into  civilized  Europe."  In  1703,  therefore,  he  selected 
this  site  on  the  marshy  banks  of  the  river  Neva,  and  there  laid  the 
foundation  of  the  enormous  city  now  called  by  his  name.  It  was  a 
fearful  undertaking,  a  prodigious  struggle  against  nature ;  but  Peter 
was  not  a  man  to  recoil  before  difficulties.  Moreover,  a  despot  may 
do  as  he  pleases.  Were  laborers  needed  ?  He  caused  an  immense 
number  of  Eussians,  Tartars,  Cossacks  and  Finns  to  come  and  build 
his  capital.  But  laboring  in  the  cold  and  wet,  without  suitable  food 
or  shelter,  multitudes  yielded  to  the  hardships ;  and  it  is  said  that 
the  foundations  of  St.  Petersburg  were  laid  at  a  cost  of  one  hundred 
thousand  lives  in  the  first  six  months  !  Yet  this  ought  not  to  surprise 
us,  when  we  think  that  even  now  St.  Petersburg  is  so  unhealthful  a 
place  that  during  the  last  twelve  years  the  deaths  there  have  out- 
numbered the  births  by  more  than  twenty  thousand ;  and,  were  it  not 
for  the  constant  accessions  from  the  country,  its  present  population 
would  be  soon  extinguished !  Were  citizens  needed  ?  A  nod  from 
Peter,  and  they  came  fast  enough ;  for,  if  a  nobleman  built  a  house 
for  himself  anywhere  else  in  Eussia,  he  must  also  erect  one  in  St. 
Petersburg,  or  else  probably  inhabit  one  in  Siberia.  Thus,  this  great 
city  of  St.  Petersburg,  in  one  respect,  resembles  the  Pyramids,  since 
it  is  a  magnificent  monument  of  autocratic  power. 

Meanwhile  Peter  himself,  the  moving  spirit  of  the  whole,  super- 
intended the  work  in  person,  and  dwelt  on  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  in 
the  little  cottage  which  every  traveller  surveys  with  interest.  "  But 
this,"  you  will  exclaim,  "is  not  a  cottage;  it  is  a  church."  And  you 
are  right ;  yet  so  am  I ;  for  the  original  house  of  Peter,  built  by  his 
own  hands,  is  contained  within  it,  like  a  jewel  in  a  box.  It  stands 
beneath  the  second  of  these  domes,  and  consists  of  but  three  apart- 
ments,—  a  bedroom,  dining-room  and  kitchen.  These,  however,  con- 
tain many  memorials  of  Peter,  the  most  interesting  of  which  to  me 
was  the  boat  which  he  himself  constructed,  and  which  is  therefore 
called  the  grandfather  of  the  Eussian  fleet. 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


But  what  a  difference  between  these  rooms  of  Peter  then  and 
now !  His  bedroom,  for  example,  has  now  been  changed  into  a 
gorgeous  chapel,  with  alabaster  floor  and  ceiling,  and  walls .  which 


COTTAGE   OF   PETER  THE    GREAT. 


gleam  with  paintings  and  magnificent  gems ;  for  Peter  has  become  a 
saint,  and  prayers  are  addressed  to  him  now  from  every  part  of  the 
great  empire. 

From  here  it  is  but  a  step  to  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  which  once 
more  spreads  before  us  its  unruffled  mirror.  From  the  enormous 
volume  of  its  clear,  blue  water  this  is  surely  one  of  the  noblest  rivers 
in  Europe.  Yet,  two  hundred  years  ago  it  was  almost  unknown. 
For  thousands  of  years  it  had  flowed  on  through  trackless  forests,  its 
shores  resounding  only  to  the  shouts  of  savage  fishermen  and  hunters. 
Now  it  is  known  the  world  over  as  the  great  commercial  artery  of 
Eussia,  and  sweeps  along  in  majesty  to  cast  itself  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  Baltic,  and  murmur  with  delight  of  the  splendor  of  this  new-born 
Eussian  city  through  which  it  has  cleft  its  way  ! 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.— ST.  PETERSBURG.  115 

Along  its  banks  are  many  pretty  villas,  whither  the  wealthy 
Russians  betake  themselves  in  summer  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 
dusty  town ;  and  often  of  a  summer  evening,  during  that  long  and 
fascinating  twilight  of  the  North,  which  constitutes  one  of  the  greatest 
charms  of  the  Czar's  capital,  I  have  seen  its  surface  rippled  by  a 
multitude  of  graceful  boats,  some  of  which  float  idly  at  their  moor- 
ings like  the  gondolas  of  Venice.  But  let  us  now  turn  from  the 
Neva  to  one  of  the  numerous  canals  connected  with  it,  which  inter- 
sect St.  Petersburg  in  various  directions.  From  this  we  can  easily 
understand  the  perilous  situation  of  the  city.  No  part  of  it  is  more 
than  fifteen  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  most  of  it  lies  so  low 
that,  notwithstanding  all  the  efforts  of  Peter  and  his  successors  for 
two  hundred  years,  no  art  can  avoid  occasional  inundations.  The 
very  ground  seems  to  tremble  under  the  enormous  weight  imposed 
upon  it,  and  the  whole  city  to  float  unsteadily  on  the  waters,  like  a 
vessel  loaded  down  to  the  water's  edge  with  precious  goods.  Guns 
are  always  fired  from 
the  fortress  whenever 
the  river  begins  to  rise, 
and,  when  it  reaches  a 
certain  point,  the  very 
frequent  discharge  of 
cannon  warns  the  occu- 
pants of  cellars  to  seek 
places  of  refuge,  and  the 
police  begin  to  prepare 
boats  and  to  insure  the 
safety  of  men  and  mer- 
chandise. Yet,  when  one 
looks  upon  this  city 
basking  in  the  mellow 
twilight  of  its  northern 
summer,  who  would  im- 
agine that  it  bears 
within  its  bosom  the  THE  NEVA. 


116 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


elements  of  its  own  destruction  ?     But  if  a  great  ocean  storm  should 
ever  occur  in  April,  when  the  ice  is  breaking  up  in  Lake  Ladoga  (the 


A   CANAL  IN   ST.    PETERSBURG. 

source  of  the  Neva),  the  news  might  flash  across  the  Atlantic  that  a 
similar  catastrophe  had  happened  here  to  that  of  1824,  when  thirteen 
hundred  houses  were  destroyed  and  eight  hundred  persons  drowned  ; 
or,  in  fact,  that  the  city  of  the  Czars  had  sunk  forever  into  those 
gloomy  marshes  over  which  its  sovereignty  now  seems  so  complete. 

"  Build  up  your  granite  piles 

Around  my  trembling  isles, 
I  hear  the  River's  scornful  Genius  cry  : 

Raise  for  eternal  time 

Your  palaces  sublime, 
And  flash  your  golden  turrets  in  the  sky. 

"  But  in  my  waters  cold 

A  mystery  I  hold, 
Of  empires  and  of  dynasties  the  fate  ; 

I  bend  my  haughty  will, 

But  am  unconquered  still  ; 
I  smile  to  note  your  triumph  ;  mine  can  wait  !  " 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG.  117 

But,  notwithstanding  its  attendant  dangers,  the  breaking  up  of  the 
ice-bound  Neva  is  always  a  season  of  rejoicing  in  St.  Petersburg.  A 
curious  ceremony  then  takes  place.  The  first  boat  that  crosses  the 
liberated  river  bears  the  Governor  of  the  fortress  to  the  Winter 
Palace,  where  he  presents  a  goblet  of  Neva  water  to  the  Czar.  The 
latter  drinks,  has  the  glass  emptied,  and  returns  it  to  the  Governor 
filled  to  the  brim  with  gold  pieces.  This  pretty  custom  was  at  one 
time  almost  spoiled,  however,  through  the  avarice  of  the  Governor. 
The  Emperor  noticed  that  every  year  the  goblet  increased  in  size, 
thus  necessitating  a  greater  number  of  gold  pieces  to  replenish  it ! 
Accordingly  he  named  a  fixed  sum  to  be  placed  in  the  glass,  irrespec- 
tive of  its  capacity, — which,  however,  is  doubtless  sufficiently  large 
to  recompense  the  Ganymede  of  the  Neva. 

Of  course,  with  such  a  foundation  as  St.  Petersburg  possesses, 
you  may  easily  imagine  it  is  emphatically  a  city  of  bridges.  Let  us, 
therefore,  fancy  that  our  horses'  feet  are  ringing  on  one  of  the  finest 
of  them  all,  —  the  bridge  of  St.  Nicholas.  It  spans  the  Neva  in  a 
series  of  iron  arches,  resting  on  magnificent  granite  piers.  Beneath 
it  is  the  noble  river,  which  sweeps  along  with  rapid  current,  as  if 
rejoicing  in  its  brief  freedom  from  icy  fetters ;  for  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year  its  waters  are  bridged  over  by  a  crystal  pavement, 
on  which  the  heaviest  burdens  pass  in  safety,  where  large  ships  floated 
and  blue  waves  tossed  perhaps  only  a  fortnight  before.  The  numer- 
ous branches  of  the  Neva  form  then  a  series  of  glittering  boulevards, 
into  whose  shining  pavement  lamp-posts  are  placed,  and  which  for 
months  assume  all  the  characteristics  of  spacious,  crowded  thorough- 
fares, locking  their  white  arms  tightly  about  the  city  of  the  Czar. 
Meanwhile  you  have  doubtless  noticed  near  the  centre  of  this  bridge 
a  little  building.  It  is  a  most  characteristic  Eussian  sight,  namely, 
a  shrine  for  prayer.  I  should  be  afraid  to  hazard  a  statement  as  to 
the  number  of  such  shrines  as  this  in  St.  Petersburg.  Their  name  is 
"legion,"  and  before  them  morning,  noon  and  night  there  is  the 
same  show  of  devotion.  Almost  every  person  who  passes  over  this 
bridge  pauses  long  enough  to  cross  himself  before  this  chapel  of 


118 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


St.  Nicholas.     Some  even  prostrate  themselves,  and  kiss  the  dirty 
pavement.     Others  purchase  a  candle  of  a  merchant  near  by,  light  it, 
and  leave  it  burning  before  the  picture  of  the  saint  in  one  of  these 
mosaic  arches.     Thus,  in  walking  through  the  most  crowded  streets 
of  St.  Petersburg  or  Moscow,  you  will  suddenly  observe  a  man  take 
off  his  hat,  cross   himself  re- 
peatedly  and    perhaps    stand 
still  in  prayer,  before  some  lit- 
tle   shrine,   which    otherwise 
would  have  escaped  your  no- 
tice.   After  a 

time  one  be-  -^-, — 

comes  so  ac- 
customed   to 


ST.   KICnOLAS   BRIDGE. 


\.  such  sights  that    they   cease   to 

strike  him  with  astonishment. 

But  we  ourselves  have  halted  long  enough  before  this  chapel  to 
be  solicited  by  the  candle-merchant.  Making  our  way,  therefore,  to 
the  end  of  this  bridge,  we  shall  see  before  us  a  spacious  building, 
whose  name  we  instantly  inquire.  It  is  the  residence  of  one  of  the 
Czar's  relatives,  and  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  finest  mansions  in  St. 
Petersburg. 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.— ST.  PETERSBURG. 


119 


The  color  of  such  houses  is  usually  reddish  brown  or  yellow,  and 
this  first  leads  us  to  suspect  that  the  material  of  which  they  are 
composed  is  not  real  stone.  "  What !  "  you  exclaim,  "  are  not  those 
Corinthian  columns,  those  elaborate  cornices  and  those  sculptured 
figures  carved  in  stone  ?  "  Prepare  yourselves  for  a  disappointment. 


A    PALATIAL    RESIDENCE. 


They  are  only  stucco.  This  matters  little,  of  course,  when  merely 
private  dwellings  are  concerned ;  but  unfortunately  the  same  thing 
is  true  of  most  of  the  palaces  and  public  buildings  of  St.  Petersburg 
and  Moscow.  True,  they  are  all  of  colossal  size,  like  the  empire  in 
which  they  stand.  But  it  will  not  do  to  examine  them  too  closely  ; 


120 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


for  stone  alone  gives  any  value  to  such  ornaments  as  they  possess ; 
and,  strange  to  say,  in  a  land  of  such  mineral  wealth,  stone  work  is 
rare  in  Eussia. 

When,  therefore,  St.  Petersburg  emerges  from  its  winter  frosts, 
and  shakes  off  its  coats  of  stucco  and  of  ice  together,  it  presents  a 
most  forlorn  appearance,  —  like  a  dilapidated  vessel  coming  into 
port  from  a  tempestuous  voyage.  "  But  are  there  no  exceptions  to 
this  order  of  things  ? "  you  ask.  Yes,  assuredly  there  are ;  and  to 
one  of  them  we  now  gladly  turn,  namely,  St.  Isaac's  Cathedral. 


ST.  ISAAC'S  CATHEDRAL. 

This  is  an  illustration  of  the  fact  that  when  Eussia  really  puts 
forth  the  effort,  she  can  and  does  surpass  the  modern  world  in  the 
splendor  of  her  architecture ;  since  the  treasures  of  her  quarries  are 
exhaustless,  and  the  skill  of  her  lapidaries  unexcelled.  It  is,  how- 
ever, unfortunate  that  there  is  no  eminence  in  the  city  on  which 
St.  Isaac  could  have  been  placed ;  for  at  this  distance  it  is  impossible 
to  see  to  advantage  the  magnificent  flight  of  steps  leading  to  its  por- 
tico. Yet,  I  assure  you,  each  of  these  steps  is  one  gigantic  block  of 
rose  granite,  worthy  of  the  Egyptian  temple  of  Karnak.  Moreover, 
the  portico  itself  is  supported  by  stupendous  columns  of  the  same 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG.  121 

material,  sixty  feet  in  height,  and  seven  in  diameter,  and  polished 
like  the  unbroken  surface  of  a  mirror. 

"  Well,"  you  perhaps  exclaim,  "  what  is  there  so  remarkable  in 
this  portal  to  distinguish  it  from  others  ? "  But  look  along  those 
columns  for  their  lines  of  jointure.  You  will  discover  none.  They 
are  monoliths.  Yes,  every  one  of  them  one  solid  mass  of  beautifully 
polished  stone  !  With  the  exception  of  Pompey's  pillar  in  Egypt  and 
the  Alexander  column,  —  which  we  shall  presently  examine,  —  they 
are  indeed  the  largest  monoliths  which  the  hand  of  man  has  ever 
quarried,  turned  and  polished !  Now,  ordinarily,  a  temple  is  con- 
tent with  one  such  portal  as  this  ;  but  reflect  that  this  magnificence 
is  here  repeated  on  each  of  the  four  sides  of  the  edifice. 

Moreover,  from  the  centre  of  the  structure  the  mighty  dome  rises 
to  the  height  of  two  hundred  and  ninety-six  feet,  and  is  itself  also 
surrounded  by  thirty  monolithic  shafts ;  while  the  roof,  which  gleams 
like  a  miniature  sun,  is  covered  with  a  mass  of  gold  worth  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  What  wonder,  then,  that  the  cost 
of  the  whole  cathedral  was  more  than  fourteen  millions  of  dollars ; 
one  million  having  been  expended  in  merely  driving  into  the  soil  a 
perfect  forest  of  piles,  to  make  a  sufficiently  strong  foundation  for 
the  enormous  mass ! 

But,  if  this  be  the  exterior,  how  shall  I  describe  the  interior  of 
this  temple  of  the  North  ? 

Before  its  gilded  altar-screen  are  ten  columns  of  malachite  thirty 
feet  high,  and  columns  of  lapis-lazuli,  each  of  which  cost  thirty  thou- 
sand dollars  !  This  exceeds  every  other  display  of  these  marvellous 
stones  which  the  world  knows.  We  are  accustomed  to  regard  a 
small  fragment  of  either  of  them  as  a  valuable  ornament.  Imagine 
then  whole  columns  of  them  Jive  times  as  high  as  ourselves  !  Yet  this 
is  only  in  keeping  with  the  entire  building ;  for  we  tread  there  a 
pavement  of  variegated  marble ;  we  ascend  steps  of  polished  jasper ; 
we  clasp  railings  of  alabaster ;  we  are  surrounded  by  walls  gleaming 
with  pieces  of  jasper,  verd-antique,  porphyry  and  malachite,  cut  in 
various  designs  and  exquisitely  polished,  interspersed  here  and  there 
with  vast  mosaic  portraits  of  the  saints,  and  shrines  of  gold  in- 


122 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


crusted  with  jewels !  The  whole,  in  fact,  is  so  magnificent  as  to 
seem  incredible  till  actually  seen. 

But,  as  I  have  already  said,  Eussia  is  a  land  of  violent  extremes 
and  startling  contrasts.  We  have  just  seen  some  striking  archi- 
tectural differences.  Let  us  now  turn  to 
survey  some  of  the  people  whom  we 
may  encounter  on  the  very  steps  of  St. 
Isaac's  itself.  Dear  readers,  you  have 
doubtless  in  the  course  of  your  lives  seen 
dirty  people,  —  it  may  be  dirty  clothing. 
It  is  not  important  to  what  race  or 
nationality  these  untidy  people  have  be- 
longed. It  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose 
that  you  now  have  in  mind  an  ideal  of 
filthy  humanity.  Yet,  no  matter  how 
disgusting  this  ideal  may  be,  I  venture 
to  say  it  falls  short  of  the  actual  appear- 
ance of  a  common  Russian  peasant.  I 
myself  have  seen  the  beggars  of  Constan- 
tinople, shrunk  from  the  lepers  of  Jeru- 
salem, laughed  at  the  dirty  Neapolitans, 
held  my  nose  in  a  Spanish  crowd,  and 
gazed  pityingly  at  the  wretched  fellahs 

of  Egypt ;  but,  in  my  opinion,  for  the  concentration  and  embodi- 
ment of  all  that  is  dirty  and  repulsive  the  common  Russian  carries 
off  the  palm.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  in  their  own  language 
the  name  by  which  these  lowest  Russians  are  designated  is  "  Tschor- 
noi  narod"  —  the  "  Dirty  People"  Semi-nakedness  is  preferable,  in 
an  assthetical  point  of  view,  to  a  Russian  peasant's  clothes.  Let 
us  look  upon  still  another  of  these  barbarians  of  the  North,  while 
I  give  you  what  I  consider  a  recipe  for  making  a  Russian  peasant's 
dress.  Take  an  old,  tattered,  blue  dressing-gown,  which  you  have 
worn  for  ten  years,  and  use  it  twice  as  a  mop  to  clean  a  stable 
floor  ;  rub  wheel-grease  into  the  lower  half,  and  let  it  dry  black  and 
hard  in  the  sun ;  next  sprinkle  the  upper  half  with  hot  lard  and 


A  RUSSIAN   PEASANT. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG. 


123 


candle-drippings,  not  forgetting  to  give  the  sleeves  a  double  quan- 
tity ;  then  wipe  off  a  street-crossing  with  it  thoroughly,  choosing  a 
particularly  muddy  day  for  the  trial ;  next  wet  it  with  ill-smelling 
cabbage-soup  (the  favorite  food  of  the  peasants),  and  tear  several 
holes  in  it ;  finally,  let  your  dog  sleep  in  it  for  two  years  ;  then 
select  for  its  wearer  a  man  whose  beard  looks  like  a  bramble-bush, 
and  whose  hair  has  been  gashed  off  behind  with  a  knife  and  fork  ; 
tie  it  tightly  about  his  waist  with  an  old  cloth  belt,  and  on  no 
account  let  the  bearer  wear  a  collar ;  put  on  the  man's  head  a  cap 
which  resembles  a  woollen  cuspidor ;  and,  finally,  encase  his  feet  in 
dirty  rags  tied  about  with  strings.  Thus  only  can  you  have  an  idea 
of  the  appearance  of  a  Russian  of  the  lower  class,  as  I  have  seen 
them  by  the  hundreds,  and  I  may  say  thousands.  This  costume, 
however,  forms  only  the  summer  clothing  of  the  peasants.  But 
with  the  first  approach  of  winter  a  change  is  made.  Note  that  I 
am  not  rash  enough  to  say  that  any  of  their  summer  clothing  is  then 
taken  off;  on  the  contrary,  I 
doubt  if  it  be  ever  removed  until 
dissolved  by  age  or  grasped  by 
the  grim  fingers  of  the  under- 
taker. But  something  extra  is 
put  on ;  and  what  is  it  ?  It  is 
a  sheep's  skin,  not  such  as  you 
obtained  on  graduating  from  Har- 
vard or  Yale,  but  a  genuine  coat 
made  of  the  skin  of  defunct 
mutton.  Now,  these  coats  are 
handed  down  from  father  to  son 
for  several  generations.  They  are 
never  laid  aside  during  the  night, 
and  never  washed !  Moreover, 
they  are  always  worn  with  the 
wool  turned  inward  ;  so  that  the 

exterior  presents  to  view  the  unadorned  pelt  of  the  sheep.     Even 
in  July  I  saw  scores  of  these  "wolves  in  sheep's  clothing,"  appa- 


ONE    OF   THE    "DIRTY   PEOPLE." 


124  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

rently  sweltering  under  the  noon-day  sun.  "But  these,"  you  will 
say,  "  are  of  course  only  the  lowest  country  people,  a  few  of  whom 
have  strayed  into  the  city  by  accident."  Not  at  all.  These  dirty, 
unkempt,  repulsive  Moujiks  constitute  quite  a  considerable  part  of 
the  population  of  the  city.  I  was  more  astonished  by  this  than  by 
anything  else  in  Russia.  I  had  imagined  that  I  should  see  upon  the 
famous  Nevski  Prospekt  elegant  carriages,  beautiful  ladies,  elaborate 
toilettes,  Russian  dandies  and  all  that  display  of  luxury  and  wealth 
which  we  naturally  associate  with  the  principal  street  in  the  capital 
of  the  Czar.  Instead  of  this,  which  would  have  recalled  the  boule- 
vards of  Paris,  I  saw  hundreds  of  uncombed  barbarians,  enveloped 
in  the  dirty  blue  gowns  which  I  have  attempted  to  describe,  —  some 
returning  from  work,  others  sitting  about  in  idleness,  and  others  (a 
fraction  cleaner  in  appearance)  mounted  upon  little  wagons  called 
"  droschkies,"  and  angling  with  their  whips  for  passengers,  as  eagerly 
as  a  fisherman  for  trout.  Well  dressed  and  cleanly  persons  were 
decidedly  in  the  minority,  and  always  surprised  me  by  the  com- 
parison which  their  appearance  instantly  suggested.  Unquestiona- 
bly, had  my  visit  to  St.  Petersburg  been  made  in  winter,  rather 
than  in  summer,  I  should  have  seen  there  a  far  greater  number  of 
gay  equipages,  elegant  toilettes  and  cultivated  people ;  since  in  July 
and  August  the  wealthy  citizens  are  mostly  absent  from  the  capital. 
But  even  then  the  "  plebeians "  must  have  far  outnumbered  the 
"  patricians." 

Not  many  years  ago  Napoleon  said,  "  Scratch  a  Russian,  and  you 
will  find  beneath  a  Tartar."  Something  of  this  is  doubtless  true  of 
the  vast  majority  of  the  population  of  Russia  to-day.  The  cultivated 
Russians,  whom  we  meet  in  Europe  and  America,  and  justly  admire 
for  their  refinement  and  culture,  are  very  few ;  while  the  great  mass 
of  the  people  are  still  but  slightly  removed  from  a  half-savage 
state. 

But,  turning  from  the  people  in  the  city  streets,  let  us  look  for  a 
moment  upon  some  of  the  streets  themselves.  Here  what  surprised 
me  most  was  the  apparent  lack  of  people  to  fill  them.  Compared 
with  the  streets  of  London,  Paris  or  New  York,  most  of  these  high- 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


125 


ways  of  St.  Petersburg  seein  tranquil  and  deserted.  Even  in  winter, 
the  season  of  greatest  gayety,  I  fancy  the  impression  would  be  much 
the  same.  The  fact  is  that  the  Czar's  capital  is  as  yet  too  large  for 
its  population.  Its  buildings  are  too  many  and  too  vast  for  its  in- 
habitants. Its  immense  squares  and  streets  seem  adapted  only  for 
large  bodies  of  troops,  and  we  feel  their  absence.  Indeed,  on  such  a 


A  STREET   IN   ST.    PETERSBURG. 


colossal  scale  is  the  city  built,  that  I  doubt  if  its  population  will  ever 
adequately  fill  the  gigantic  frame  allotted  to  it  by  its  arbitrary 
founder.  The  scanty  foliage  along  these  streets  need  not  surprise  us, 
so  near  are  we  now  to  the  cold  shoulder  of  Greenland.  But  oh,  shades 
of  the  martyrs,  what  pavements  exist  in  some  of  these  St.  Petersburg 
highways  !  I  suppose  that  winter  furnishes  them  so  good  a  pavement 
for  more  than  half  the  year  that  in  summer  people  are  contented 
here  with  almost  anything.  Twice,  in  driving  through  St.  Peters- 
burg in  the  month  of  July,  our  carriage  was  stuck  fast  in  the  mud, 


126  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

and  we  continued  our  route  on  foot !  So  numerous  also  were  the 
stones  and  holes,  that  we  often  bobbed  about  in  the  carriage  like 
kernels  of  popped  corn ;  while  our  features  twitched  as  though  we 
had  St.  Vitus'  dance.  I  remember  trying  to  call  out  once  the  Eussian 
word  for  driver,  Isvotschik,  but  the  terrific  jolts  caused  me  to  almost 
bite  my  tongue  off'  in  the  attempt ! 

And,  by  the  way,  let  us  look  for  a  moment  on  one  of  the  charac- 
teristic Eussian  cabs  in  which  we  rattle  over  these  pavements.  A 
Eussian  droschky  is  a  genuine  curiosity.  It  has,  as  you  see,  four 
wheels,  about  as  large  as  that  of  a  wheelbarrow.  Upon  this  a  slen- 
der framework  is  raised,  containing  usually  two  seats,  —  a  very 
small  one  for  the  driver,  and  behind  this  another  for  the  passenger. 
I  use  the  singular,  for  the  seat  is  hardly  wide  enough  for  two,  unless 
they  happen  to  be  situated  as  were  the  Siamese  twins,  and  even  then 
the  disagreeable  proximity  of  the  driver's  coat  suggests  unpleasant 
zoological  experiences.  This  is  a  comparatively  elegant  droschky ; 
but  oh,  what  specimens  some  of  them  are  !  "  The  one-horse  shay  " 
in  its  last  moments  never  looked  so  badly.  Even  the  wagon  which 


A   RUSSIAN   DROSCHKY. 


Methuselah  had  used  from  his  youth  up,  through  all  his  "nine  hun- 
dred and  ninety-nine  "  years,  never  began,  I  am  sure,  to  have  such  a 
desperately  seedy  air  as  a  second-rate  Eussian  droschky.  I  did  not 
dare  to  get  into  one  of  that  class,  for  I  knew  that  if  I  did,  I  should 
justly  forfeit  my  life  insurance.  It  is  an  instrument  of  torture 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG,  127 

applied  to  locomotion.  An  English  nobleman  once  offered,  it  is  said, 
a  thousand  pounds  to  any  one  who  would  find  in  a  civilized  country 
a  more  uncomfortable  vehicle.  He  has  his  money  still ! 

By  way  of  recompense,  however,  the  horses  which  draw  even  the 
poorest  of  these  vehicles  are  by  no  means  such  skinny,  nerveless 
beasts  as  those  which  we  commiserate  in  Paris  and  in  Naples. 
Almost  without  exception,  the  Eussian  horses  are  beautiful.  They 
are  small,  nimble,  elegantly  formed  and  sleek.  Their  harnesses  are 
so  light  that  they  seem  to  be  mere  ribbons  of  leather ;  while  a  curious 
arch  extends  from  one  shaft  to  the  other  over  the  horse's  head, 
making  the  head  of  the  pretty  animal  appear  as  if  set  in  a  picture- 
frame.  These  horses  go  like  the  wind.  No  matter  whether  you  are 
riding  "  by  the  course  "  or  "  by  the  hour,"  you  will  be  whirled  over 
Peter's  paving-stones  with  a  rapidity  that  startles  you.  I  can 
account  for  it  only  from  the  fact  that  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  year  these  horses  drag  light  sleighs  over  an  icy  crust,  and  thus 
get  accustomed  to  a  rapid  rate  of  progress.  Delighted,  therefore, 
with  this  mode  of  locomotion  (so  far  at  least  as  the  horses  were 
concerned),  we  rode  incessantly  about  the  city,  finding  at  every  turn 
sights  to  amuse,  astonish  or  instruct  us. 

The  great  artery  of  the  capital  is  the  "  Nevski  Prospekt,"  or  "  Per- 
spective of  the  Neva," — a  street  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  broad, 
and  extending  straight  as  an  arrow  for  a  distance  of  three  miles. 
Among  the  many  objects  which  embellish  it  we  note  the  Alexander 
Theatre,  —  one  of  the  finest  in  the  city,  and  adorned  with  many 
handsome  statues.  To  the  honor  of  Eussia  be  it  said,  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  Czar  devotes  yearly  a  very  large  sum  of  money  to  the 
cultivation  of  dramatic  art  in  all  its  branches  ;  justly  recognizing  the 
drama  as  a  means  of  popular  education  and  culture,  as  well  as  of 
amusement.  Operas  are  as  finely  given  in  Eussia  as  anywhere  in 
the  world,  the  best  talent  being  always  engaged,  and  the  stage 
arrangements  leaving  nothing  to  be  desired.  It  is  in  St.  Petersburg, 
you  remember,  that  Patti,  Nilsson,  and  our  own  sweet-voiced  Gary 
have  won  some  of  their  most  brilliant  triumphs. 

Close  by  this  theatre  we  observe  another  ornament  of  the  Nevski 


128  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

Prospekt,  namely,  the  Imperial  Library.  One.  would  hardly  expect 
the  library  of  so  young  a  nation  as  Russia  to  be  especially  remarka- 
ble ;  but  in  reality  this  building  contains  one  of  the  richest  collec- 
tions in  the  world.  Here  are  some  invaluable  documents  relating 
to  the  history  of  France,  dragged  from  the  archives  of  Paris  at 
the  time  of  the  French  Revolution  by  an  infuriated  populace,  and 
sold  to  the  first  bidder.  A  Russian  purchased  them,  and  thus  some 
of  the  most  valuable  state  papers  of  France  adorn  the  library  of  the 
Czar.  Here  too  is  the  famous  manuscript  of  the  Gospels  discovered 
by  Professor  Tischendorf  at  the  lonely  monastery  of  Mt.  Sinai, — a 
work  dating  from  the  fourth  century,  and  the  oldest  and  most  au- 
thentic copy  of  the  Gospels  extant.  The  collection  of  Hebrew  manu- 
scripts here  is  also  the  most  unique  and  ancient  in  the  world,  far 
surpassing  that  of  the  British  Museum  or  the  Imperial  Library  at 
Paris. 

One  of  its  greatest  treasures,  however,  is  an  immense  Koran, 
written  on  gazelle  skin.  It  was  purchased  some  years  ago  at  a 
mosque  in  Asia.  Tradition  says  it  was  the  first  complete  Koran  ever 
written,  and  was  made  for  the  Caliph  Osman.  It  was  this  volume 
which  was  once  kept  in  the  magnificent  mosque  of  Cordova,  in 
Spain,  and  it  was  this  very  book  that  Osman  was  reading  when  his 
murderers  attacked  him,  and  upon  it  are  still  visible  the  traces  of  his 
blood. 

From  this  let  us  approach  the  famous  Alexander  column,  —  a 
monument  of  which  all  Russia  may  be  justly  proud.  It  is  the 
greatest  monolith  of  modern  times,  being  a  single  shaft  of  red  granite, 
forty-two  feet  in  circumference,  and  eighty-four  feet  high,  exclusive 
of  capital  and  pedestal !  This  would  not  have  been  unworthy  of 
Egypt.  When  we  behold  it  standing  so  securely  on  its  pedestal,  it  is 
hard  to  realize  the  almost  incredible  amount  of  labor  necessary  to 
bring  it  from  its  mountain  quarry  and  erect  it  here.  But,  since  the 
whole  of  St.  Petersburg  is  built  upon  a  morass,  it  was  needful  to 
drive  here  no  less  than  six  rows  of  piles,  one  above  the  other,  in 
order  to  furnish  a  strong  enough  foundation  for  the  enormous  burden 
Qifour  hundred  tons  resting  on  so  small  a  base.  The  summit  of  this 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


129 


splendid  shaft  is  sur- 
mounted by  the  figure  of 
an  angel,  fourteen  feet  in 
height,  holding  a  cross. 
This  statue  was  raised 
to  its  present  elevation 
in  its  rough  state,  and 
was  polished  after  being 
firmly  fixed  in  its  posi- 
tion. On  the  pedestal 
— which,  like  the  capital, 
is  ornamented  with  bronze 

—  we  read  the  brief  but 
expressive  inscription, 
"  Grateful  Eussia  to  Alex- 
ander I."     It  is  said  that 
the   French    king   Louis 
Philippe  once  coolly  asked 
the  Czar  Nicholas  for  a 
similar  column  out  of  his 
Finland    quarries.      The 

Czar,  however,  begged  to  be  excused.  "  I  do  not  wish,"  he  said,  "  to 
send  you  a  smaller  one  ;  a  similar  one  I  cannot  afford  ;  and  a  greater 
one  it  is  impossible  to  obtain." 

As  we  turned  away  from  this  noble  monolith  on  the  night  of  our 
arrival  in  St.  Petersburg,  the  slowly  descending  globe  of  the  northern 
sun  was  flooding  the  city  with  a  marvellous  radiance,  and  gilding 
brightly  the  summit  of  the  column.  In  fact,  so  far  into  the  night 
did  this  illumination  linger  there,  clothing  the  angel  and  his  cross 
with  glory,  that  we  could  almost  fancy  it  unwilling  to  leave  them, 
until  they  should  again  be  greeted  by  the  kiss  of  dawn. 

But  no  longer  let  us  delay  a  visit  to  the  celebrated  Winter  Palace, 

—  one  of  the  largest  buildings  in  the  world,  and  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  year  the  residence  of  the  Czar  of  all  the  Eussias.     Seen  from  a 
distance,  you  can  hardly  imagine  a  palace  more  imposingly  designed 

9 


THE   ALEXANDER   COLUMN. 


130 


II ED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


and  nobly  situated ;  for  its  dimensions  are  gigantic,  and  beside  it 
rolls  the  Neva,  like  a  flood  of  silver.  In  fact,  in  size  and  situation, 
this  reminded  me  not  a  little  of  the  Sultan's  splendid  palace  on  the 
Bosphorus.  Since  the  assassination  of  Alexander,  and  the  blowing 
up  by  dynamite  of  the  dining-room  of  this  palace,  the  police  have 
been  exploring  it  from  top  to  bottom.  Never  was  there  such  a 
house-cleaning  as  that  has  -proved  to  be ;  for,  besides  the  men-ser- 
vants and  maid-servants,  the  porters,  grooms,  soldiers  and  courtiers, 


whose  names  are  all  registered 
on  the  palace  books,  there  were 
discovered  here  numbers  of  peo- 
ple of  whose  very  existence  the 
police  were  ignorant.  People 

had  come  hither  with  former  Czars  or  their  officials,  and  had  for- 
gotten to  leave  when  their  masters  died,  remaining  here  thus  for 
years,  and  marrying,  and  even  rearing  their  families  here  without 
special  notice.  Five  or  six  thousand  people  at  one  time  are  said 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG.  131 

to  have  resided  in  this  palace.  Startling  discoveries  were  made  at 
every  turn,  the  most  ludicrous  being  the  finding  of  a  cow  in  a  shed 
upon  the  roof.  No  one  knew  how  she  came  there ;  but  she  was 
probably  brought  thither  when  quite  young,  that  her  milk  might  be 
sold  to  these  curious  inmates  of  the  palace. 

The  apartments  of  Alexander  II.  were  in  the  second  story  of  this 
palace,  and  there  of  course  was  centred  the  Imperial  Court.  Yet 
one  story  higher  was  another  court  to  which  Eussian  statesmen  and 
courtiers  crowded  almost  as  eagerly.  For  there,  above  the  Czar's 
apartments,  was  the  splendid  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  the  Prin- 
cess Dolgorouki,  whom  for  years  Alexander  loved  with  passionate 
devotion.  It  was  only  the  actual  members  of  the  imperial  family 
who  looked  with  jealousy  on  the  fair  intruder  and  dared  to  keep 
aloof  from  the  court  of  the  upper  story.  Of  course  every  one  sur- 
mised, when  the  illness  of  the  Empress  took  a  serious  turn,  that  the 
Czar  would  soon  marry  the  princess ;  still  it  was  with  great  surprise 
and  not  a  little  disgust  that,  only  four  months  after  the  death  of  his 
first  wife,  St.  Petersburg  learned  that  Alexander  had  led  his  second 
consort  to  the  altar. 

Viewed  from  a  distance,  this  Winter  Palace  appears  noble  and 
majestic,  and  it  would  be  easy  to  leave  that  impression  on  your 
minds ;  for  nothing  in  this  illustration  betrays  the  fatal  secret  of  its 
composition.  But  I  am  sure  you  would  rather  know  facts  than  be 
deceived  by  careless  works  of  travel.  One  American  writer,  has 
stated  that  it  is  built  of  brown  stone.  Belying  on  his  accuracy,  I 
was  again  doomed  to  disappointment.  It  is  really  a  palace  of  brick, 
stuccoed  over  and  painted  brown.  Worse  than  that,  when  I  be- 
held it,  the  plastering  had  fallen  off  and  the  harsh  red  brick  showed 
underneath  in  many  places,  liKe  an  ugly  sore.  Certainly  this  palace 
is  admirably  designed  and  of  vast  proportions ;  but  (save  in  the  one 
particular  of  size)  its  exterior  is  unworthy  of  the  home  of  the  Em- 
peror of  Russia,  and  is  completely  wanting  in  that  massive  solidity 
which  its  name  suggests. 

But  note  that  I  lay  especial  stress  upon  the  exterior  ;  for  when  we 
have  passed  within  its  painted  shell,  we  find  at  every  turn  the  most 


132  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

lavish  expenditure  and  gorgeous  adornment.  At  present  no  travel- 
lers in  Eussia  would  be  allowed  to  go  within  this  palace ;  but  at  the 
time  of  my  visit  to  St.  Petersburg,  it  was  (in  the  absence  of  the 
Czar)  open  to  all  tourists. 

I  was  two  hours  in  passing  through  its  scores  of  splendid  halls ; 
and  I  assure  you  it  is  no  easy  task  to  walk  over  its  miles  of  polished 
floors  and  through  its  endless  corridors,  where  crystal  chandeliers, 
malachite  tables,  inlaid  doors  and  ornaments  innumerable  dazzle  the 
eye,  and  finally  become  indescribably  wearisome  and  monotonous. 
Without  doubt,  to  keep  this  enormous  palace  in  good  order  must  be 
a  great  expense  to  the  Government ;  but  it  has  just  come  to  light 
that  for  years  there  have  been  "  Star-Eoute  "  house-cleaners  here. 
For  example,  fifteen  hundred  roubles  have  been  charged  every  year 
merely  for  brooms  to  siveep  it !  But  on  estimation  it  is  found  that  at 
this  rate  eighteen  thousand  of  these  brooms  must  have  been  used 
here  yearly,  and  that  nearly  fifty  must  have  been  worn  out  every 
day  during  the  reign  of  the  late  Alexander!  From  this  one  item 
we  can  imagine  what  other  frauds  went  on  within  this  palace, 
and  can  understand  the  remark  of  the  Czar  Nicholas,  when  he  ex- 
claimed, "  My  son  and  I  are  the  only  ones  in  Eussia  who  do  not 
steal!" 

In  one  part  of  this  building  is  a  magnificent  chapel  designed  for 
the  use  of  royalty.  In  the  sanctuary  of  this  we  were  shown  a  great 
number  of  holy  relics,  the  most  remarkable  of  which  was  the  hand 
and  a  part  of  the  arm  of  the  Virgin  Mary  !  This  relic,  kept  under  a 
glass  case,  was  a  hideous  sight;  for  it  was  so  black  and  shrivelled 
with  age  that  it  might  equally  well  have  been  called  the  paw  of  an 
embalmed  monkey. 

Other  relics  were  a  part  of  the  robe  of  Jesus,  and  two  pictures  said 
to  have  been  painted  by  St.  Luke.  It  seems  that  some  persons  a  few 
centuries  ago  doubted  whether  one  of  these  paintings  was  a  genuine 
production  of  St.  Luke's  genius ;  so  the  saint  was  considerate  enough 
to  sign  it  one  night,  which  of  course  settled  the  question.  My  faith 
in  this  matter  of  the  signature,  however,  is  lukewarm.  With  the 
advanced  ideas  of  art  which  he  must  possess,  I  think  Luke  would 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


133 


have  been  ashamed  to  sign  such  a  daub.  I  asked  our  guide  whether 
the  Czar  believed  in  all  these  relics.  The  reply  was,  "Of  course; 
why  not  ? " 

But  now  let  us  pass  into  the  great  ball-room  of  this  palace,  which 
is  indeed  an  apartment  of  crystallized  splendor.     It  is,  I  believe,  con- 


BALL-ROOM,  WINTER  PALACE. 

ceded  that  no  court  balls  in  Europe  are  so  brilliant  as  those  which 
are  given  here.  Often  one  of  the  larger  halls  is  then  converted  into 
an  almost  tropical  garden  by  the  introduction  of  exotic  plants  and 
fruit  trees;  and  thus  one  passes,  as  if  by  magic,  from  the  snow- 
covered  street,  and  a  temperature  of  thirty  degrees  below  zero,  into 


134  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

the  gorgeous  splendor  of  a  Southern  carnival.  There,  only  a  few  feet 
removed  from  icicles  and  the  glacial  blasts  of  the  North,  one  inhales 
the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  feels  upon  his  cheek  a  warmth  soft  as 
the  breath  of  Egypt.  But  this  is  not  the  only  room  which  can  be  thus 
adorned;  for  on  entering  the  elegant  breakfast-room  of  'the  Czar, 
we  noticed  another  profusion  of  Southern  plants  and  flowers.  Born 
amid  snow  and  ice,  the  Eussians  have  a  passion  for  these  emblems 
of  the  Orient.  The  beauty  of  these  rooms  must,  however,  have 
only  heightened  the  misery  of  the  late  Czar  during  the  last  years  of 
his  life,  when  he  was  as  much  haunted  by  the  fear  of  murder  as  is 
his  son  to-day.  The  floor  of  the  neighboring  dining-hall  was,  you 
remember,  blown  up  by  dynamite  just  as  he  was  about  to  enter  it. 
Finally  his  kitchen  was  placed  under  strict  surveillance,  three  physi- 
cians being  attached  to  it,  each  of  them  receiving  1,000  roubles  a 
month.  One  examined  the  meats,  vegetables  and  pastry ;  another 
tasted  the  wines  and  liquors ;  the  third  superintended  the  cooking  of 
the  dishes.  They  were  all  subject  to  grave  responsibilities.  At  the 
least  illness  of  the  Czar  they  ran  the  risk  of  being  arrested  as  accom- 
plices, on  a  charge  of  high  treason,  and  of  being  instantly  banished 
to  Siberia  or  put  to  death.  And  yet  it  is  said  that  the  Czar,  fearing 
to  depend  entirely  upon  those  safeguards,  frequently  took  emetics 
after  his  meals,  as  an  additional  precaution  ! 

Such  reflections  naturally  remind  us  of  some  of  the  attempts  made 
by  the  Nihilists  to  enter  here. 

General  Gourko,  when  governor  of  St.  Petersburg,  had  the  right 
of  entering  at  any  time  into  the  Emperor's  room  without  being  an- 
nounced. Once,  however,  the  guard  in  one  of  the  ante-rooms,  seeing 
something  unusual  about  his  appearance,  stopped  him,  saying  that 
it  would  be  necessary  to  inform  the  Czar  of  his  arrival.  The  gen- 
eral objected  at  first,  but,  finding  that  the  doorkeeper  only  grew  more 
suspicious,  ultimately  agreed  to  being  announced.  The  guard  then 
told  the  Emperor  of  his  doubts ;  upon  which  the  latter  went  to  a 
writing-table  in  his  room,  which  was  connected  by  telegraph  with 
General  Gourko's  residence,  and  telegraphed,  "  Where  is  Gourko  ? " 
"At  home,"  was  the  reply.  This  of  course  settled  the  point;  the 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.— ST.  PETERSBURG. 


135 


false  Gourko  was  at  once  arrested,  and  turned  out  to  be  a  member 
of  the  revolutionary  committee. 

Filled  with  such  thoughts,  we  shall  not  find  it  strange,  as  now  we 
enter  the  imperial  bed-chamber,  to  find  that  even  here  the  horrors  of 


TliE    BREAKFAST    ROOM. 


his  life  pursued  the  Czar  and  made  his  nights  a  hideous  mockery  of 
rest.  One  night,  not  long  before  Alexander's  assassination,  one  of  the 
servants,  who  stood  high  in  his  master's  favor,  thought  that  he  heard 
the  Czar's  voice  calling  him,  and  entered  the  Imperial  bedroom.  The 
Emperor,  awakened  suddenly  by  the  noise  of  his  footsteps,  and  not 
recognizing  the  valet  in  the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  which  swung  over 
his  head,  drew  a  revolver  from  beneath  his  pillow  and  fired.  The 
servant  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  groan.  The  room  was  quickly  filled 
with  watchmen,  members  of  the  household  and  courtiers,  fearful  that 
another  attempt  had  been  made  on  the  Czar's  life.  When  the  truth 


136 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


was  learned,  the  wounded  man  was  carried  to  another  room,  and 
doctors  pronounced  his  injury  to  be  fatal.  Efforts  were  made  on  all 
sides  to  prevent  the  news  getting  abroad,  and  it  was  generally  given 
out  among  the  people  that  the  man  had  died  by  his  own  hand. 

Naturally  then,  ere  we  leave  the  Winter  Palace  with  all  its  splen- 
dor and  its  fearful  memories,  we  desire  to  look  at  the  sad  face  which 
has  here  haunted  us  so  long.  It  is  that  of  the  late  unhappy  Czar. 
There  are  here  few  traces  of  his  great  beauty  and  magnificent  phy- 
sique, for  the  last  years  of  his  reign  altered  him  greatly.  The 
settled  melancholy,  which  has  always  haunted  the  Romanoffs,  appar- 
ently reached  in  him  its  climax.  For  his  eyes,  said  to  have  been 


THE  CZAR  s  B?:D-ROOM. 


always  sad,  have  here  an  almost  pathetic  expression,  as  though  the 
spectres  of  conspiracy,  assassination,  Nihilism,  disappointment  and 
thwarted  ambition  preyed  vulture-like  upon  his  heart,  and  as  though 
he  half  foresaw  the  awful  doom  which  Destiny  was  holding  in  her 
hand,  waiting  until  the  fatal  hour  should  come.  That  hour  came  all 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


137 


too  soon,  and  proved  more  tragic  even  than  his  wildest  dream  could 
have  imagined ! 

It  was  on  the  21st  of  March,  1881,  that  the  remains  of  poor  Alex- 
ander were  conveyed  with  solemn  and  imposing  pageantry  from  this 
Winter  Palace  to  the  Cathedral  on  the  opposite  border  of  the  river. 
Not  a  year  before,  the  body  of  the  Empress  had  also  been  borne  over 
the  same  route  to  the  same  rest- 
ing-place of  the  Komanoffs.  So 
long  was  the  mournful  proces- 
sion that  it  took  two  hours  to 
pass  a  given  point.  It  was  of 
almost  unexampled  splendor,  for 
all  that  was  regal  and  warlike  in 
the  Empire  had  its  representation 
there.  The  funeral  car  itself  was 
of  ebony  and  silver,  and  was 
drawn  by  eight  black  horses 
shrouded  in  sable  draperies,  while 
the  coffin  of  the  Czar  was  almost 
hidden  by  a  golden  pall  lined 
with  white  satin.  Sixteen  gen- 
erals held  the  silken  cords  of 
the  canopy  above  this,  and  behind  ALEXANDER  n. 

his  murdered  father  walked  Alex- 
ander III.  in  his  Imperial  solitude,  bearing  alone  his  griefs  and  his 
responsibilities. 

If  possible,  more  solemn  still  must  have  been  the  sight  of  the  silent 
thousands  who  lined  the  shores  of  the  Neva  with  one  vast  sea  of  pale 
and  saddened  faces.  Bareheaded  and  mute  they  stood  there  thus  for 
hours  ;  many  of  them  praying  for  the  soul  of  the  dead  Czar,  while 
hundreds  of  priests,  clad  in  their  ecclesiastical  robes  and  bearing 
tapers  in  their  hands,  were  chanting  on  the  air  a  solemn  requiem. 

And  yet,  there  is  another  side  to  all  this  story.  For,  however 
much  we  may  pity  the  haunted  Czar,  and  however  friendly  we  may 
feel  to  the  Imperial  family  as  individuals,  there  is  something  which 


138  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

calls  more  loudly  for  our  sympathy  than  Alexander's  tragic  fate, 
namely,  the  pitiable  condition  of  the  Eussian  people  !  For  the  last  few 
years  especially,  the  long  bleak  roads  leading  to  Siberia  have  been 
crowded  day  and  night  with  caravans  of  men  and  women  of  all 
classes  of  society.  Not  long  ago  there  were  at  one  time  twenty 
thousand  of  these  wretched  victims  of  suspicious  tyranny  awaiting 
transportation ;  and  during  the  reign  of  the  late  Alexander,  at  least 
one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  are  said  to  have  been  exiled  to 
Siberia.  In  these  pitiable  processions  were  not  only  abandoned 
criminals.  Often  the  great  mass  of  them  have  been  political  offend- 
ers ;  that  is,  patriotic  Poles,  journalists,  students,  poets,  and  even  fair 
young  women,  like  Vera  Sassulitch,  condemned  at  the  age  of  sixteen 
to  an  existence  worse  than  death. 

Can  there  be  anything  worse  than  this  ?  Yes,  it  is  the  fact  that 
many  of  such  exiles  have  been  sentenced  without  a  trial,  and  by  the 
mere  arbitrary  decree  of  that  inquisition  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
the  Eussian  secret  police !  This  is  a  system  of  espionage  and  abso- 
lutism worthy  only  of  Asia.  All  classes  of  society  are  open  to  its 
dread  inspection,  and  every  word  or  look  may  be  interpreted  as  trea- 
son by  some  lurking  spy.  This  body  has  the  power  of  seizing  men 
and  women  in  the  dead  of  night  and 'thro  wing  them  into  prison,  on 
a  mere  suspicion  or  the  complaint  of  some  enemy.  And  there  they 
may  be  kept  for  months  and  years,  and  finally  even  exiled  to  Siberia 
without  having  had  a  public  trial !  In  such  cases  inquiry  after  them 
is  useless.  They  have  been  secretly  arrested.  They  have  disappeared. 
What  becomes  of  them  must  ever  be  to  their  loved  ones  an  agonized 
conjecture. 

Sometimes,  it  is  claimed,  there  is  no  shadow  of  reason  for  the  ar- 
rest, save  that  the  eye  of  some  lecherous  official  has  fallen  upon  the 
beauty  of  some  beloved  wife  or  daughter,  who  is  thus  left  without  a 
protector  at  the  mercy  of  the  merciless. 

When,  then,  we  shudder  at  the  deeds  of  the  Nihilists,  let  us  ask 
ourselves  what  we  would  do,  if  we  saw  our  loved  ones  dragged  thus 
mysteriously  to  death  or  exile,  no  one  knows  which  ;  and  if  we 
were  liable  to  share  the  same  fate,  if  we  asked  the  reason  why.  For 


CITIES   OF   THE    CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG. 


139 


my  part,  I  do  not  find  it  strange  that  a  country  thus  governed  should 
be  honeycombed  with  revolution,  and  that  all  society  should  be  one 
vast  bed  of  dynamite  ready  for  the  first  spark  to  blow  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  absolutism  into  the  air. 

Such  feelings  are  intensified  as  we  approach  again  the  Neva,  and 
view  in  the  distance  on  the  opposite  bank  the  gloomy  fortress  of 
Petro-Paulovsky.  This  is  the  Bastile  of  Eussia,  the  most  famous, 


or  rather  the  most  in-famous,  of  all  its  strongholds  of  despotism.  I 
suppose  no  prison  now  standing  in  the  world  has  witnessed  so  much 
suffering,  injustice  and  cruelty  within  its  walls  as  this.  Walls, 
it  is  said,  have  ears ;  but  had  they  tongues,  what  horrible  deeds 
could  be  disclosed  by  the  dark,  icy  dungeons  of  this  prison  below 
the  level  of  the  Neva,  with  walls  and  floors  slimy  with  dampness ! 
Such,  for  example,  as  when  Alexis,  the  son  of  Peter  the  Great,  was 
put  to  death  here  by  his  father's  order;  or  when  all  the  political  pris- 
oners here  were  drowned  in  their  dungeons  during  the  overflow  of  the 
Neva.  Among  them  was  the  beautiful  young  Princess  Tarakonoff, 
who  was  hated  by  Catharine  as  a  possible  claimant  of  the  throne, 
and  who  had  been  lured  back  to  Eussia  from  a  happy  life  in  Italy 
through  the  brutal  cunning  of  the  Imperial  favorite,  Orloff. 


140  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

It  is  said  that  her  screams  and  piteous  entreaties  brought  even  her 
jailers  to  her  cell ;  and  when  she  bade  them  see  how  with  the  incom- 
ing flood  from  the  Neva  the  icy  water  had  risen  already  to  her  waist, 
and  begged  to  be  transferred  to  another  cell,  she  received  the  answer, 
"  No  one  leaves  here  without  the  order  of  the  Empress."  The  grating 
was  shut,  and  the  poor  young  Princess  was  left  with  the  rest  to 
drown  in  the  freezing  waters  of  the  Neva ! 

But  from  this  Russian  fortress,  where  many  suspected  (and  God 
knows  how  many  innocent)  men  and  women  are  now  languishing, 
let  us  cross  the  river  by  the  handsome  Neva  bridge,  while  we  recall 
one  more  of  the  many  tragedies  connected  with  that  fortress-prison. 

In  a  damp  dungeon  there,  was  once  imprisoned  a  young  man 
named  Batenkof,  suspected  of  conspiracy  against  the  Czar  Nicholas. 
How  long  do  you  imagine  he  remained  there  ?  Twenty-three  years  ! 
During  that  tune  he  languished  in  a  cell  below  the  Neva  without 
seeing  or  speaking  to  a  soul  save  his  jailer,  or  rather  jailers,  —  for 
he  outlived  three!  At  the  end  of  eleven  years  they  allowed  him 
the  luxury  of  a  pipe ;  at  the  end  of  thirteen  years  they  gave  him 
the  Bible ;  finally,  after  twenty-three  years,  they  opened  his  prison 
doors.  But  when  he  was  led  into  the  court-yard,  blinded  by  the 
light  and  oppressed  by  the  air,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  weeping. 

He  tried  to  beg  to  be  reconducted  to  his  dungeon.  I  say  "  tried," 
for  he  could  not  find  words  to  express  his  desire.  He  had  forgotten 
how  to  speak.  Think  of  the  agony  which  a  man  must  have  suffered 
to  reach  a  point  like  that ! 

Filled  with  these  and  many  other  gloomy  memories,  I  suddenly 
found  myself,  appropriately  enough,  before  the  equestrian  statue  of 
the  Czar  Nicholas,  the  predecessor  of  the  late  Alexander.  As  I  gazed 
upon  the  figure  of  this  man,  whose  reign  was  the  very  personification 
of  iron  military  despotism,  the  man  who  swore  that  he  would  make 
a  Siberia  of  Poland  and  a  Poland  of  Siberia,  and  up  to  1848  had 
transported  thither  sixty  thousand  Poles,  I  could  but  ask  myself,  Is 
this  Bomanoff  dynasty  and  the  system  it  upholds  worth  maintaining 
at  the  price  they  cost?  No  matter  how  the  age  advances,  with 
Nicholas,  with  Alexander,  and  with  the  present  Czar  the  idea  is  still 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


141 


the  same,  namely,  that  one  man  out  of  eighty  millions  has  the  divine 
authority  to  rule  the  others  in  the  same  way  that  his  barbarous  ancestors 
used,  centuries  ago  !  But  the  Russian  people  are  no  longer  the  savage 
hordes  which  once  selected  their  most  ferocious  chief  as  sovereign. 
They  are  men  born  in  the  nineteenth  century,  who  see  that  every 
other  land  in  western  Europe  has  a  constitution  and  some  represen- 
tation by  the  people.  Here,  however,  there  is  nothing  of  this ;  no 


STATUE    OF   THE   CZAR  NICHOLAS. 

freedom  of  the  press ;  no  chance  of  appeal  or  remonstrance ;  while 
the  sentiment  of  Trepoff,  the  infamous  chief  of  police  shot  by  Vera 
Sassulitch,  is  this :  "  The  man  who  dares  speak  of  a  constitution  in 
Russia  deserves  to  have  a  bullet  sent  through  his  skull ! " 

Away,  then,  with  any  form  of  government  which  can  only  be 
maintained  at  the  cost  of  the  lives  and  happiness  of  thousands  of 


142 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


unoffending  people,  who  have  the  same  right  to  their  lives  and  happi- 
ness that  the  accident  of  birth  gives  to  the  Czar  ! 

But,  leaving  these  political  reflections,  let  us  approach  a  very 
prominent  building  in  St.  Petersburg,  the  Hermitage.  It  was  built 
by  Catharine  II.,  just  as  Frederick  the  Great  built  near  Berlin  his 
palace  of  Sans-Souci,  as  a  refuge  from  the  cares  of  state. 

Here  the  Empress  passed  many  of  her  evenings,  surrounded  by 
French  philosophers,  musicians  and  artists  ;  all  of  whom  were  obliged, 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  Hermitage,  to  leave  behind  them  at  the 
threshold  all  considerations  of  rank  and  precedence,  and  to  meet  on 
terms  of  perfect  equality. 

Before   we    enter    the 
Hermitage  by  yonder  por-  Js       ) 

tal  supported  by  colossal 
granite  giants,  let  me 
point  out  to  you  the  open 
window  in  the  upper  story 


THE   HERMITAGE. 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG.  143 

of  the  adjoining  Winter  Palace.  In  that  room,  guarded  night  and 
day,  are  kept  most  of  the  crown  jewels  of  Eussia.  How  many 
millions  of  dollars  were  represented  in  the  little  room  where  we 
beheld  them !  There  I  saw  the  Imperial  Crown  of  the  Czar, 
than  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more  mag- 
nificent. It  is  in  the  form  of  a  dome,  the  summit  being  formed 
of  a  cross  of  large  diamonds  resting  on  an  immense  ruby.  This  ruby 
with  its  cross  is  poised  upon  arches  of  diamonds,  whose  bases  rest 
upon  a  circle  of  twenty-eight  other  diamonds,  which  clasp  the  brow 
of  the  Emperor.  The  cross  of  the  Empress  also  contains  no  less  than 
one  hundred  splendid  diamonds,  and  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful 
mass  of  these  precious  stones  ever  formed  into  a  single  ornament. 

Chief  among  that  magnificent  collection,  —  a  detailed  description 
of  which  would  be  impossible,  —  is  the  grand  Orloff  diamond,  the 
largest  in  the  world.  An  officer  drew  back  a  curtain,  and  revealed  it 
to  us,  sparkling  on  the  summit  of  the  Imperial  sceptre.  The  history 
of  this  diamond  is  as  interesting  as  the  stone  itself  is  dazzling.  It 
formed  at  one  tune  the  eye  of  an  idol  in  a  temple  of  India.  A 
French  soldier,  pretending  to  have  been  converted  to  its  religion, 
gained  admission  to  this  temple  one  dark  night,  and,  by  means  of 
some  surgical  operation  best  known  to  himself,  deprived  the  deity  of 
his  bright  eye,  and  fled  with  the  prize.  After  passing  through  sev- 
eral hands,  it  was  finally  purchased  for  over  half  a  million  of  dollars 
by  the  famous  Count  Orloff,  who  laid  it  here  in  the  Hermitage  at  the 
feet  of  Catharine  II. ,  as  the  most  magnificent  jewel  in  the  world. 

As  we  prepare  to  enter  this  palace,  we  can  but  remember  how 
many  of  Catharine's  discarded  favorites  have  passed  over  these  very 
steps,  smothering  under  forced  smiles  and  honeyed  words  their  in- 
ward rage  and  indignation ;  for  when  Catharine  wearied  of  her  favor- 
ites she  sent  them  an  order  to  travel  for  their  health,  and  they 
prudently  set  out  at  once.  On  arriving  at  the  first  stage  of  their 
journey,  however,  they  were  usually  consoled  by  finding  elegant 
presents  awaiting  them,  —  such  as  diamonds,  money,  or  serfs,  or 
frequently  an  estate,  to  which  they  were  advised  to  immediately 
retire.  If  now  we  pass  within  one  of  the  many  elegant  galleries  of 


144 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


the  Hermitage,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  no  longer  a  royal  residence, 
but  that,  like  the  Louvre  at  Paris,  it  has  now  become  the  Imperial 
museum  of  the  capital. 

Here  (as  before,  in  the  Library)  we  are  amazed  at  the  valuable  art 
treasures  which  this  young  nation  has  been  able  to  secure.     The 


GALLERY    IN    THE    HERMITAGE. 


truth  is,  for  many  years  the  Russian 
Government  has  spent  large  sums  of 
money  in  this  direction,  and   to-day 
has  agents  all  over  Europe,  ready  to  outbid  the  world  for  any  mas- 
terpiece which  by  chance  may  be  offered  for  sale.     Here  is  certainly 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG.  145 

the  best  collection  of  Spanish  pictures  to  be  found  outside  of  Spain ; 
one  room  alone  containing  no  less  than  thirty  genuine  Murillos,  some 
of  which  seemed  to  me  as  fine  as  any  I  had  seen  in  Madrid  and 
Seville.  Moreover,  as  we  walk  through  these  galleries  of  beauty,  we 
become  speedily  convinced  that  in  no  other  art-museum  in  the  world 
are  there  such  ornaments  as  in  this  Hermitage.  The  immense  vases 
of  porphyry,  stands  of  Siberian  marble,  tables  of  malachite,  candela- 
bra of  violet  jasper,  and  urns  of  lapis-lazuli,  which  adorn  every  room, 
are  of  incalculable  value,  and  would  almost  in  themselves  repay  a 
special  visit  to  Eussia. 

The  many  lovely  statues  which  this  Hermitage  contains  are  all 
the  works  of  modern  sculptors,  but  are  perhaps  none  the  less  attrac- 
tive on  that  account  to  the  majority  of  travellers.  As  we  looked 
upon  them  we  were  not  disposed  to  doubt  the  statement  that  the  late 
Alexander,  who  himself  selected  many  of  these  statues,  was  a  man  of 
excellent  taste  and  an  unerring  judgment  in  matters  of  art.  Surely, 
then,  a  hermit  might  boldly  forswear  the  rest  of  the  world,  if  he 
could  only  make  this  Hermitage  his  cell ;  for  here  the  marvels  of  the 
globe  surround  him,  —  glowing  upon  canvas,  crystallized  in  marble, 
carved  in  ivory  and  woven  in  tapestry,  presenting  thus  in  epitome 
countless  illustrations  of  the  world's  beauty  and  progress. 

But  now,  by  way  of  variety,  let  us  leave  the  streets  of  St.  Peters- 
burg itself,  and  make  an  excursion  to  one  of  its  charming  suburbs,  — 
to  Czars-Koe-Selo,  one  of  the  summer  homes  of  the  Imperial  family. 
It  is  only  fifteen  miles  distant  from  the  city,  and  can  be  easily  reached 
by  a  railroad  which  was  the  first  ever  built  in  Eussia. 

Catharine  II.  loved  this  place  especially,  and  spent  enormous 
sums  on  its  embellishment.  Originally  every  statue,  ornament,  and 
pedestal  of  the  fagade  of  the  palace,  which  is  no  less  than  twelve 
hundred  feet  in  length,  was  heavily  plated  with  gold.  When,  how- 
ever, after  a  few  years,  the  gilding  wore  off,  and  the  contractors 
engaged  to  repair  it  offered  the  Empress  nearly  half  a  million  of 
dollars  for  the  fragments  which  remained,  the  extravagant  Catharine 
made  the  scornful  answer,  "I  am  not  in  the  habit,  gentlemen,  of 

10 


146  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

selling  my  old  clothes  ! "  The  avenue  leading  to  this  palace  is  oddly- 
decorated  with  four  Chinese  statues,  apparently  smoking  here  in 
Oriental  calm.  One  day  as  Catharine  was  taking  here  her  usual 
promenade,  she  thought  she  detected  on  the  face  of  one  of  these 


CZARS-KOE-SELO. 


figures  a  faint  smile.  In  astonishment  she  observed  it  more  closely  ! 
It  surely  was  no  fancy !  The  eyes  actually  returned  her  gaze  with  a 
peculiar  look  of  admiration,  which  to  a  connoisseur  like  the  Empress 
spoke  volumes,  and  seemed  remarkably  human  !  Catharine  was  not 
a  woman  to  be  nervous  or  timid  at  anything,  and  accordingly  she 
walked  straight  towards  the  statue  in  order  to  solve  the  mystery. 
She  was,  however,  for  a  moment  startled,  when  all  these  figures  sud- 
denly leaped  from  their  pedestals,  and,  hats  in  hand,  begged  her  to 
pardon  the  little  surprise  with  which  they  had  tried  to  enliven  her 
Majesty's  morning  walk ;  for,  in  fact,  her  favorite  Potemkin  and  three 
other  courtiers  had,  in  jest,  exactly  copied  in  dress  and  attitude  the 
Chinese  figures  which  we  see. 

As  for  the  interior  of  the  palace,  there  is  the  same  lavish  expendi- 
ture which  characterizes  the  outer  walls ;  while  nothing  can  exceed 
the  oddity  of  its  furnishing.  One  apartment  is  called  the  Chinese 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG. 


147 


room,  because  its  furniture  and  decorations  are  modelled  after  some 
styles  of  the  Celestial  Empire.  More  remarkable  than  this  is  the 
amber  room,  whose  walls  are  covered  with  that  precious  substance  ; 
while  still  more  famous  than  either  is  the  lapis-lazuli  apartment, 
the  sides  of  which  are  beautifully  inlaid  with  that  rare  stone,  while 
the  floor  is  of  ebony,  adorned  with  mosaic  flowers  made  of  mother- 
of-pearl  !  Can  you  imagine  a  contrast  more  original  and  effective  ? 
Entirely  different,  and  in  striking  contrast  to  these  splendid  halls,  is 
the  small  room  used  by  the  Czar  as  his  study.  It  is  very  plainly 
furnished,  its  chief  decoration  consisting  in  the  numerous  portraits  of 
his  children,  relatives,  and  soldiers  which  cover  the  walls.  Whether 
the  old  domestic  who  conducted  us  through  the  palace  suspected 
that  we  were  about  to  drop  dynamite  in  this  room,  I  know  not ;  but 
he  was  quite  reluctant  to  admit  us  into  this  private  study  of  the 


THE    CHINESE    ROOM. 


148 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


Emperor.  Our  guide,  therefore,  called  him  aside,  and  whispered  to 
him  that  we  were  really  Russians  of  high  rank  who  (since  we  were 
travelling  incognito)  were  talking  a  foreign  language.  I  was  not 


THE    CZAR  S   STUDY. 


responsible  for  this  awful  lie ;  but  either  that  or  a  rouble  slipped  into 
his  hand  produced  the  desired  effect,  and  we  were  at  once  admitted. 
When,  therefore,  we  came  forth  from  the  palace,  a  friend  recalled  to 
me  the  experience  of  two  Americans  who  on  their  travels  in  Russia 
were  urged  by  their  guide  to  adopt  Russian  names.  These,  however, 
were  so  difficult  alike  to  pronounce  and  to  remember  that  at  last  they 
invented  some  for  themselves  suited  to  their  professions.  Thus  one, 
who  practised  dentistry,  called  himself  Count  Pull-a-toothsky ;  while 
the  other,  who  was  a  distiller,  styled  himself  Prince  Cask-o'- 
wiski! 

But  let  us  glance  at  a  portion  of  the  lovely  park  of  Czars-Koe- 
Selo,  which  is  no  less  than  eighteen  miles  in  circumference.  Upon 
its  pretty  lake  the  young  daughter  of  the  Czar  Nicholas  used 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


149 


to  feed  some  pet  swans,  of  which  she  was  very  fond.  This  child 
died  at  an  early  age ;  and  ever  since  then  the  white  swans  which 
she  loved  have  been  replaced  by  black  ones,  as  though  they  were 
in  mourning  for  their  little  mistress.  In  one  of  the  beautiful 
pavilions  which  rise  from  the  border  of  the  lake  hangs  the  portrait 
of  this  youthful  princess,  and  beneath  it  is  one  of  her  childish  say- 
ings, which  startles  us  when  we  think  it  was  applied  to  the  despotic 
ruler  Nicholas,  who  must  have  been  a  very  different  man  in  his  own 
family.  It  is  this :  "  I  know,  papa,  that  you  have  no  greater  pleasure 
than  that  of  making  my  mamma  happy."  Beyond  the  lake  a  pretty 
river  winds  through  this  park  in  graceful  curves,  repeatedly  spanned 


PAKK   OF   CZARS-KOE-SELO. 


150  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

by  bridges,  of  the  most  fantastic  and  beautiful  designs.  This  garden 
of  Czars-Koe-Selo  is  probably  the  most  carefully  kept  park  in  the 
world ;  for,  on  account  of  the  severity  of  the  Eussian  climate,  its  trees 
and  flowers  are  watched  and  cared  for  with  the  most  anxious  tender- 


THE   DRIVE-WAY. 

ness.  Catharine  II.  used  to  say,  "  In  Eussia  we  have  not  summer 
and  winter,  but  only  a  white  winter  and  a  green  winter."  At  all 
events  an  old  invalid  soldier  here  commands  an  army  of  five  or  six 
hundred  gardeners.  After  every  falling  leaf  a  veteran  runs ;  and 
every  spear  of  grass  is  carefully  drawn  out  of  lake  and  river.  The 
cost  of  all  this  lavish  care  amounts,  it  is  said,  to  fifty  thousand  dollars 
a  year ;  but  the  result  is  that  the  park  is  kept  in  the  order  of  a  ball- 
room. 

But,  ere  we  take  our  leave  of  Czars-Koe-Selo.  let  us  glance  for  a 
moment  down  one  of  its  long  driveways,  straight  and  unswerving  as 
an  arrow.  Its  monotony,  is  relieved  at  intervals  by  lofty  arches, 
each  one  of  which  is  surmounted  by  a  tiny  summer  house,  like  a 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.  PETERSBURG. 


151 


jewel  mounted  in  a  ring.  The  sight  of  it  reminds  me  of  one  of  the 
mad  freaks  of  the  Czar  Paul  I.,  the  half-insane  son  of  Catharine  II., 
whose  mad  whims  led  him  now  to  cause  ladies  to  descend  from 
their  carriages  in  the  mud  when  he  passed,  and  now  to  send  an 
entire  regiment  to  Siberia  because  it  made  a  blunder  in  manreuvring. 
Let  me  cite  for  you  one  of  the  many  stories  told  of  his  wild  fancies. 
One  day  as  he  was  returning  from  St.  Petersburg  to  this  palace,  he 
saw  a  soldier  whose  face  pleased  him.  He  stopped  his  carriage,  and 
beckoned  the  man  to  approach.  He  did  so,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot.  "What  are 
you,  Dust  of  the 
earth  ?  "  asked  the 
Czar.  (This  was 
Paul's  pleasant 
way  of  addressing 
his  subjects !)  The 
dust  of  the  earth 
replied,  "A  private 
in  your  Majesty's 
regiment."  "You 
lie,"  replied  Paul ; 
"  you  are  a  lieuten- 
ant." And  he  ord- 
ered him  to  get  up 
beside  the  coach- 
man. At  the  end 
of  the  next  quarter 
of  a  mile  the  Czar 
touched  him  with 
his  sword.  "  What 
are  you  ? "  he  again 
demanded.  "A 

lieutenant,  Sire,  thanks  to  your  Majesty's  kindness."  "  You  lie," 
replied  Paul ;  "  you  are  a  captain."  At  the  end  of  another  quarter 
the  Emperor  struck  him  again.  "  What  are  you,  Dust  of  the 


PETERHOP. 


152  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

earth ? "  "A  captain,  your  Majesty."  "  You  lie,"  Paul  cried  again  ; 
"you  are  a  major."  By  the  time  they  reached  the  palace  the  lucky 
soldier  was  a  general.  If  the  distance  had  been  a  little  greater,  he 
might  have  become  commander-in-chief ! 

Still  more  attractive  than  Czars-Koe-Selo  is  Peterhof,  another 
summer  residence  of  the  Imperial  family,  which  we  may  visit  before 
returning  to  St.  Petersburg.  It  is  connected  with  the  capital  not 
only  by  rail,  but  by  a  line  of  admirable  steamboats,  which  every 
hour  ply  back  and  forth  along  the  river  Neva  and  the  Gulf  of 
Finland,  beside  the  gigantic  fortresses  of  Cronstadt. 

No  sooner  do  we  enter  the  great  park  of  Peterhof  than  we  find 
ourselves  surrounded  by  a  multitude  of  fountains,  which  in  number, 
design  and  beauty  are  unsurpassed,  even  by  those  of  Versailles. 
This  also  is  a  result  of  the  indomitable  energy  and  ambition 
of  Peter  the  Great.  Louis  XIV.  had  created  fountains  on  the  sandy 
plain  of  Versailles.  Why  should  not  he  do  as  much  along  the 
marshes  of  the  Neva?  Within  two  months  after  the  autocrat's 
order  had  been  given,  the  thousands  of  workmen  who  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  prodigious  task  announced  that  the  canals  and  aque- 
ducts were  ready.  Other  laborers  were  equally  expeditious  in  the 
construction  of  palaces,  avenues,  and  villas.  Statues  and  ornaments 
sprang  up  as  if  by  magic ;  and,  since  trees  were  already  abundant, 
the  entire  park  and  buildings  were  constructed  within  a  single  year  ! 
In  his  impatience,  Peter  is  said  to  have  felled  many  trees  himself, 
swinging  the  axe  with  a  force  which  none  of  his  workmen  could 
rival. 

The  fountains,  however,  form  the  most  remarkable  feature  of 
the  place.  There  seems  no  limit  to  their  number  and  variety. 
One  is  called  the  "  Mountain  of  Gold,"  because  the  water  flows 
over  a  flight  of  gilded  steps,  thus  giving  it  (especially  when  the 
fountains  are  illuminated)  the  appearance  of  a  cataract  of  molten 
gold.  Nymphs,  lions,  river-gods,  the  heroes  of  mythology  and  his- 
tory, all  figure  in  these  fountains,  until  the  combination  is  bewilder- 
ing ;  while,  not  content  with  these,  the  architect  has  designed  long 
rows  of  single  fountains,  without  statues,  and  pyramids  of  water 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG.  153 

formed  by  five  hundred  and  twenty-five  jets,  and  artificial  trees,  each 
leaf  of  which  sends  forth  a  silvery  stream  of  water ;  the  whole  pro- 
ducing a  beautiful  effect.  Most  astonishing  of  all,  however,  is  the 
"  Cascade  of  Samson  "  under  the  palace  windows.  Here  Samson  is 
contending  with  a  lion,  from  whose  mouth  leaps  forth  a  flood  of 
water  to  a  height  of  eighty  feet !  Finally,  the  enormous  flood  of 
water  from  these  fountains  is  gathered  in  one  mighty  channel,  and 
rolls  away  like  some  wild  mountain  torrent  toward  the  sea. 

It  is  said  to  have  been  one  of  the  fancies  of  the  Czar  Nicholas  to 
make  his  pages  and  servants  charge  upon  a  number  of  these  foun- 
tains at  the  beat  of  the  drum,  and,  rushing  furiously  into  the  blind- 
ing streams,  to  capture  them  like  batteries,  and  turn  the  water  off 
with  their  own  hands.  We  may  be  tolerably  sure,  however,  that 
Nicholas  never  tried  it  himself !  A  much  more  agreeable  story  of 
his  life  here  is  that  connected  with  a  little  island  on  one  of  the 
pretty  lakes  which  he  caused  to  be  formed  out  of  the  marshes  that 
till  his  time  had  adjoined  the  grounds  at  Peterhof.  Upon  this  island 
is  an  Italian  villa,  precisely  like  one  near  Palermo,  Sicily,  where 
the  Emperor  and  Empress  passed  the  winter  of  1846.  Nicholas, 
perceiving  how  charmed  the  Empress  was  with  that  Italian  resi- 
dence, gave  secret  orders  to  have  its  counterpart  erected  here  at 
Peterhof  ;  which,  to  her  great  surprise  and  delight,  she  found  await- 
ing her,  filled  with  rare  works  of  art  and  souvenirs  of  their  Italian 
winter. 

In  one  of  the  ponds  of  Peterhof  are  tame  fishes,  as  old.  it  is  said 
as  the  time  of  Catharine  Second.  A  white-haired  pensioned  soldier 
has  no  other  duty  than  that  of  calling  these  fishes  to  the  surface  by 
the  ringing  of  a  bell.  The  fish,  however,  do  not  display  themselves 
for  nothing  any  more  than  does  the  pensioned  soldier ;  for,  while  he 
expects  a  rouble,  they  anticipate  and  receive  some  crumbs  of  cake 
which  they  devour  eagerly.  We  could  hardly  feel  flattered,  there- 
fore, by  the  reception  given  us  by  these  fishes  of  Peterhof ;  for  no 
sooner  were  the  crumbs  exhausted  than  they  turned  their  backs 
upon  us,  and  sought  again  the  privacy  of  then*  own  apartments. 

A  visit  to  Peterhof  reminds   us  of   an  incident  told  of  Prince 


154 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD- 


Bismarck  when  he  was  the  Prussian  ambassador  at  the  Czar's  court, 
and  which  admirably  illustrates  Eussian  absolutism.  He  was  stand- 
ing one  day  at  a  window  of  the  palace  with  Alexander  II.,  when 
he  observed  a  sentinel  in  the  centre  of  a  spacious  lawn,  with 


THE   BALL-BOOM   AT  PETERHOF. 

apparently  nothing  whatever  to  guard.  Out  of  curiosity  he  inquired 
of  the  Emperor  why  the  man  was  stationed  there.  Alexander  turned 
to  an  aide-de-camp.  "  Count  Schoufalof ,  why  is  that  soldier  stationed 
there  ? "  "I  do  not  know,  your  Imperial  Majesty."  The  Czar 
frowned,  and  answered  curtly,  "  Send  me  the  officer  in  command 
for  the  day."  Presently  the  officer  appeared,  pale  with  apprehen- 
sion. "  Prince  Ivanovitch  Poniatowsky,  why  is  a  sentinel  stationed 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — ST.   PETERSBURG. 


155 


on  that  lawn?"  "  Keally,  your  Majesty,  I  —  I  do  not  know," 
stammered  the  officer.  "Not  know?"  cried  the  Czar  in  surprise; 
"  request  then  the  general  in  command  of  the  troops  at  Peterhof  to 
present  himself  immediately."  A  few  moments  later  the  command- 
ant hurried  to  the  spot  in  a  state  of  great  fear  and  agitation. 
"  General  Petrovitch  Tschernischewski  Bogoljubof  Nijninovgoro- 
dinski,"  asked  the  Czar,  "will  you  be  kind  enough  to  inform  us 
why  that  soldier  is  stationed  in  yonder  isolated  place  ? "  "I  beg  to 
inform  your  Majesty 
that  it  is  in  accord- 

V     V-        , 

ance  with  an  ancient 
custom,"  replied  the 
general,  evasively. 
"  What  was  the  origin 
of  the  custom?"  in- 
quired Bismarck.  "I 
—  I  do  not  at  present 
recollect,"  stammered 
the  officer.  "  Inves- 
tigate the  subject, 
and  report  the  re- 
sult," the  Czar  said. 
Accordingly  the  in- 
vestigation began,  and 
after  three  days  and 
nights  of  labor,  it  was 
ascertained  that, 
about  eigldy  years  be~ 
fore,  one  morning  in 
spring,  Catharine  II. 

observed  in  the  centre  of  this  lawn  the  first  Mayflower  of  the  season 
lifting  its  delicate  head  above  the  lately  frozen  soil.  She  ordered  a 
soldier  to  stand  there  to  prevent  its  being  plucked.  The  order  was 
duly  inscribed  upon  the  books ;  and  thus  for  eighty  years,  summer 
and  whiter,  a  sentinel  had  stood  upon  that  spot,  no  one  apparently, 


STATUE   OF   PETER  THE   GREAT. 


156  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

until  Prince  Bismarck's  time,  caring  to  question  the  reason  of  the 
custom ! 

But,  taking  our  leave  of  Peterhof,  we  soon  arrive  again  within  the 
limits  of  St.  Petersburg,  where,  having  thus  made  the  circuit  of  the 
city,  we  stand  with  admiration  and  respect  before  the  colossal  statue 
of  that  extraordinary  man,  who  conceived  and  executed  the  daring 
plan  of  building  here  the  great  metropolis,  on  which  he  seems  to  gaze 
with  pride.  He  is  represented  as  reining  in  his  steed  at  full  gallop 
on  the  very  verge  of  a  precipice,  his  face  turned  toward  the  Neva,  and 
his  outstretched  hand  apparently  calling  on  the  world  to  witness  the 
triumphant  result  of  his  indomitable  will.  Even  the  huge  block  of 
granite  which  forms  the  pedestal  is  itself  remarkable ;  for  it  is  one 
enormous  mass  weighing  fifteen  hundred  tons,  brought  hither  from 
Finland  with  immense  labor.  It  was  on  this  very  mass  of  rock  that 
Peter  the  Great  once  stood  and  watched  the  victory  of  his  infant  navy 
over  his  enemies,  the  Swedes.  Truly  a  wonderful  man  must  this  bold 
horseman  have  been ! — so  gigantic  in  form  that  we  feel  like  pygmies 
beside  the  rod  which  radicates  his  height ;  so  powerful  that  his  walk- 
ing-stick, still  preserved  in  the  Museum,  was  a  bar  of  iron ;  so  skil- 
ful that  he  made  with  his  own  hands  his  house,  furniture  and  boats ; 
so  brave  that  he  laughed  to  scorn  his  superstitious  nobles,  and  went 
incognito  to  England,  France  and  Holland,  and  studied  their  insti- 
tutions in  the  humble  garb  of  a  day  laborer.  It  is  impossible  to  take 
a  step  in  St.  Petersburg  without  being  reminded  of  him.  Do  we 
tread  upon  pavements  ?  It  is  his  work  that  we  do  not  sink  in  a 
swamp.  Do  we  admire  its  gigantic  temples  ?  It  was  at  his  com- 
mand that  they  were  reared,  upon  a  soil  into  which  whole  forests  had 
to  be  thrown ;  so  that  the  foundations  of  St.  Petersburg  sink  as  far 
beneath  the  soil  as  its  gilded  spires  rise  toward  heaven.  And  all 
this  was  done  not  only  before  the  age  of  steam  and  machinery,  but 
when  his  workmen  carried  the  earth  for  the  city  ramparts  in  their 
caps  and  aprons ! 

With  all  his  barbarity,  therefore,  this  Peter  must  be  called  one  of 
the  world's  great  men.  His  work  has  survived  him ;  and  the  Kus- 
sian  Empire,  rude  and  almost  formless  in  his  hands,  covers  to-day  an 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.— ST.   PETERSBURG. 


157 


enormous  portion  of  the  globe,  and  glorifies  its  founder  in  many 
different  languages ;  for  from  the  Polar  Sea  to  the  Caspian,  from  Fin- 
land to  the  Chinese 
wall,  the  name  of 
Peter  is  spoken  al- 
most as  of  some  deity. 
In  this  connection,  let 
me  lead  you  to  the 
rear  of  this  statue,  and 
point  out  to  you  that 
building  which  of  all 
others  in  St.  Peters- 
burg seems  the  pecu- 
liar emblem  of  his 
genius.  It  is  the  Ad- 
miralty,—  the  centre 
of  the  great  naval  de- 
partment of  Eussia. 
As  we  behold  this 
gigantic  building,  the 
fagade  of  which  is 
one-half  mile  in 
length,  and  remember 
what  it  represents,  we 
can  hardly  wonder 
that  the  reign  of  Peter 

the  Great  is  considered  by  the  Eussians  as  well-nigh  the  commence- 
ment of  their  civilization.  For  think  of  merely  this  one  thing  which 
he  performed.  He  found  Eussia  without  even  a  fishing-boat.  He 
bequeathed  to  her  a  victorious  navy,  and  established  commercial  rela- 
tions with  almost  every  other  nation  on  the  globe ;  and  this,  although 
the  harbor  of  his  capital  is  for  six  months  in  the  year  as  inaccessible 
to  ships  as  the  North  Pole  itself  !  From  the  summit  of  this  tower, 
which  is  itself  adorned  with  columns  and  colossal  statues,  rises  a 
slender  gilded  shaft,  beautiful  and  suggestive  at  any  time,  but  par- 


THE   ADMIRALTY. 


158  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

ticularly  so  when  on  it  falls  the  combined  effulgence  of  the  moon  and 
northern  sun ;  for  then  this  gilded  lance  seems  like  a  glittering 
exclamation  point  of  wonder  at  the  vast  city  which  floats  beneath 
it,  and  which,  obedient  to  a  will  that  knew  no  obstacle,  has  risen 
to  and  rests  upon  the  surface  of  the  Neva  like  a  fair  lily  with 
resplendent  colors.  At  such  a  time  the  faults  of  this  great  city 
of  the  North,  due  largely  to  its  youth  and  rapid  growth,  all  dis- 
appear beside  the  marvellous  fact  that  it  exists  at  all.  Having 
then  since  the  era  of  its  founder  made  such  gigantic  strides  of 
progress,  we  can  but  hope  that  this  city  of  Peter  the  Great  will 
achieve  still  more  brilliant  triumphs  in  that  glorious  future  which 
emancipated,  educated,  and  constitutionalized  Eussia  will  one  day 
inevitably  enjoy. 


THE   CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR. 


II. 

MOSCOW. 

IF  you  care  to  glance  at  a  map  of  Kussia,  you  will  see  that  Mos- 
cow is  situated  four  hundred  and  three  miles  southeast  of  St. 
Petersburg,  and  the  railroad  which  connects  them  is  a  line  of  unde- 
viating  straightness.  When  the  engineers  who  were  to  construct  it 
had  so  designed  the  route  that  by  occasional  turnings  it  might  pass 
through  several  prominent  towns,  they  submitted  their  plan  to  the 
Czar  Nicholas  for  approval. 

"  Bring  me  a  map ! "  exclaimed  the  autocrat,  pushing  aside  the 
papers.  The  map  was  procured. 

"  Where  is  Moscow  ?  " 

"  There,  your  Majesty." 

"  And  where  is  St.  Petersburg  ? " 

"  There,  your  Majesty." 

"  Then,"  exclaimed  the  Czar,  imperiously,  drawing  a  straight  line 
between  the  cities,  "  make  the  railroad  there  !  " 

Accordingly  the  road  was  constructed  straight  and  unswerving  as 
an  arrow,  with  a  total  disregard  of  the  towns  in  its  vicinity.  It 
leaves  them  contemptuously  in  the  distance,  and  they  must  be 
reached  from  the  station  in  droschkies  or  sleighs,  according  to  the 
season.  It  would  be  wearisome  to  describe  this  long  and  monotonous 
journey.  Hour  after  hour  passes,  yet  we  can  perceive  almost  no 
change  in  the  surrounding  scenery.  An .  endless  ocean  of  pine  and 
fir  trees  tosses  its  green  waves  afar  off  to  an  almost  limitless  horizon, 

11 


162 


It  ED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


MOSCOW. 


and  dreary  uncultivated  wastes  impress  us  with  a  melancholy  sense 
of  the  vastness  of  this  northern  realm.  This  feeling  is  intensified 
when  at  one  place  we  cross  the  river  Volga,  the  history  of  whose 
shores  has  been  so  dark  and  savage  that  we  should  hardly  be  sur- 
prised to  see  its  waters  tinged  with  bipod.  From  this  point  down- 
wards the  Volga  is  navigable  for  steamers,  and  we  might  step  on 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  163 

board  of  one  and  sail  through  a  little  strip  of  Russian  territory  two 
thousand  miles  and  more  in  length,  as  far  as  Astrachan,  on  the 
Caspian  Sea !  At  last,  however,  about  eighteen  hours  from  St. 
Petersburg,  we  gain  our  first  view  of  Moscow,  and  realize  with 
delight  that  before  us  is  the  Mecca  of  our  Eussian  pilgrimage ;  the 
old  Muscovite  capital,  the  picture  of  whose  battlements  and  towers 
has  haunted  us  from  childhood.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  soldiers 
of  Napoleon's  army,  after  their  weary  march  of  thousands  of  miles, 
shouted  with  a  frenzy  of  enthusiasm  as  this  beautiful  panorama  of 
Moscow  burst  upon  their  view.  In  fact,  no  traveller  can  gaze  upon 
it  without  deep  emotion ;  for,  like  Constantinople,  it  is  a  border 
city,  standing  on  the  confines  of  the  Eastern  and  Western  worlds. 
We  have  now  reached  a  place  whose  longitude  is  further  east  than 
that  of  Jerusalem,  and  where  the  two  great  divisions  of  our  globe, 
the  Orient  and  Occident,  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes.  Beyond  this 
glittering  city  are  vast  uncultivated  regions,  spreading  out  in  bar- 
baric wildness  as  far  as  the  great  kingdoms  of  Tartary  and  China, 
or  over  the  frozen  plains  of  Siberia  to  the  broad  Pacific ;  and  almost 
reaching  Alaska,  our  own  frost-covered  storm-door  of  the  North. 
But  as  a  great  continent  rises  slowly  from  the  sea,  so  out  of  the 
wide-spread  barbarism  of  these  eastern  lands  the  huge  empire  of 
Russia  is  emerging,  and  Moscow  is  its  lofty  headland,  its  frontier  city, 
faced  Janus-like,  to  the  East  and  West,  a  connecting  link  between  the 
Russia  which  has  been  and  that  which  is  to  be. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  reflections  our  train  has  crossed  the  river 
Moskwa  —  which  has  given  its  name  to  the  city  —  and  has  entered 
the  railroad  station.  It  is  an  edifice  whose  modern  air  makes  us  at 
first  doubt  our  arrival  in  this  ancient  capital  of  the  Czar.  Yet  the 
mere  fact  that  a  railroad  (the  great  modern  agent  of  civilization)  has 
here  a  terminus,  is  no  proof  that  the  city  is  in  all  respects  similarly 
advanced.  It  was  at  this  station  that  I  bade  adieu  to  some  Russian 
acquaintances,  one  of  whom  (a  French  lady  who  had  married  a  Mus- 
covite) assured  me  that  there  were  still  in  good  Russian  society  traces 
of  the  old  custom  of  tying  up  wives  by  their  hair  and  flogging  them. 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


At  least,  many  husbands  when  angry  struck  their  wives  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  not  uiifrequently  even  used  a  whip  on  their  fair  shoul- 
ders. " Incredible !"  you  say.  So  I  thought  and  said,  at  first;  but 
that  such  barbarities  are  not  unknown  in  Eussia  I  was  convinced  by 
a  score  of  stories  which  she  narrated  to  me  in  proof  of  the  fact. 

Fatigued  by  the  long  night-journey  from  St.  Petersburg,  we 
entered  the  ancient  city  of  the  Czars  in  one  of  those  abominable 
Kussian  droschkies,  whose  motion  is  something  like  riding  on  the 
back  of  a  runaway  camel.  Before  us  extended  one  of  the  character- 
istic streets  of  Moscow,  with  its  confused  mingling  of  churches,  pala- 
ces and  hovels,  and  with  a  pavement  of  muddy  earth,  into  which  sharp 
stones  have  been  occasionally  dumped,  like  raisins  in  a  pudding. 
As  for  the  lighting  of  these  streets,  not  long  ago  a  Muscovite  coun- 
cillor argued  that  people 
who  go  out  at  night 
should  carry  their  own 
lamps!  Fortunately, 
however,  his  decision  was 
overruled,  and  at  present 
the  avenues  of  Moscow 
are  supplied  with  gas- 
lights. 

Five  minutes  after  we 
had  left  the  railway  sta- 
tion, we  needed  no  argu- 
ment to  convince  us  of 
the  truth  of  the  state- 
ment that  Moscow  is  one 
of  the  most  irregularly 
built  cities  in  the  world. 
In  truth,  it  is  precisely 
characteristic  of  a  nation 
in  a  transition  state. 
Every  building  seems  strangely  placed  in  striking  contrast  to  its 
neighbor.  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  finely  proportioned  church  with 


CONTRASTS   IN  ARCHITECTURE. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  165 

lofty  towers  and  brilliant  cupola ;  but  before  it  is  the  simple  hut  of  a 
blacksmith,  and  on  one  side  extends  a  row  of  common  yellow  cottages. 
For  in  Moscow  miserable  hovels,  which  we  should  expect  to  find  only 
in  the  outskirts  of  a  town,  stand  forth  unblushingly  beside  a  palace 
or  cathedral ;  just  as  one  of  those  Russian  peasants,  whose  acquaint- 
ance we  made  in  St.  Petersburg,  when  clad  in  his  sheepskin  coat, 
wherein  are  concentrated  the  vile  smells  of  several  generations,  will 
stand  quite  unconscious  of  his  filthiness,  beside  a  man  who  is  cleanly 
dressed.  The  more  cultured  Russians  are  themselves  keenly  alive 
to  this,  but  so  far  from  being  ashamed  of  acknowledging  it,  they  do 
so  with  a  laugh.  When  I  one  day  frankly  stated  to  two  of  them  my 
surprise  at  the  savage  appearance  of  the  natives,  and  the  odd  blend- 
ing of  edifices  in  Moscow,  they  laughed  at  my  modest  way  of  criti- 
cism, and  said  twice  as  much  against  these  features  as  I  had  done. 
One  of  them,  who  had  spent  most  of  his  time  in  France,  pointed 
to  the  streets  of  Moscow  with  disdain,  adding  with  a  sneer,  "  Ca  ne 
me  plait  pas  du  tout ; "  while  the  other  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said  with  a  laugh,  "  Give  us  time ;  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day." 

One  of  the  first  things  to  attract  our  attention  in  riding  through 
this  city  was  the  enormous  number  of  churches  it  contains.  Their 
architecture  is  peculiar.  How  singular,  for  instance,  is  the  style  of 
their  cupolas.  To  use  a  homely  but  correct  comparison,  their  form 
resembles  closely  that  of  an  inverted  onion  ;  but  it  is  far  from  being 
displeasing  to  the  eye,  when  one  is  accustomed  to  its  strangeness. 
On  the  contrary,  as  these  bulbous  domes  are  usually  gilded,  and 
gleam  resplendent  in  the  sun,  they  are  among  the  most  attractive 
and  brilliant  architectural  ornaments  in  the  world.  Moreover,  one 
fact  in  relation  to  these  churches  we  hail  with  genuine  satisfaction,  — 
namely,  that  beneath  those  glittering  domes  no  distinctions  are  ever 
made  between  rich  and  poor.  Upon  their  marble  pavement  are  no 
favored  places,  obtainable  by  money  or  by  birth.  There  at  least, 
even  in  Russia,  noble  and  serf  meet  upon  terms  of  absolute  equality, 
and  side  by  side  they  offer  up  their  prayers  to  God. 

Occasionally  we  passed  the  house  of  some  wealthy  Russian 
nobleman,  whose  name  we  usually  found  impossible  either  to  pro- 


166  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

nounce  or  remember,  but  for  whom  we  at  least  had  time  to  feel 
profound  commiseration.  For  how  wearisome  and  exasperating  the 
residents  of  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  must  have  found  the  police 
regulations  maintained  there  for  the  past  few  years  !  At  the  door 
of  each  of  these  houses  is  stationed  a  dvornik,  or  porter,  who  is  at  the 
same  time  a  servant  of  the  proprietor  and  an  agent  of  the  police. 
Thus  he  not  only  has  to  sweep  the  steps  and  build  the  fires,  but  he 
must  also  guard  against  suspicious  characters,  and  even  see  that  the 
inmates  conduct  themselves  like  loyal  subjects  and  faithfully  observe 
all  passport  regulations. 

Formerly,  it?  is  said,  these  watchmen  used  to  aid  the  police  in 
robbing  and  waylaying  citizens.  At  all  events,  there  is  little  doubt 
that  between  thieves  and  policemen  a  resident  of  Moscow  leads  a 
troubled  life.  Nowhere  is  the  system  of  corruption  (so  frightfully 
prevalent  in  Kussia)  more  incorrigible  than  in  the  police  force.  It 
has  not  been  an  uncommon  thing  for  the  wealthy  citizens  of  Moscow 
and  St.  Petersburg  to  pay  to  the  police  a  kind  of  thief-insurance 
money ;  and  strange  to  say,  whenever  the  payments  were  regular, 
their  property  was  unmolested.  There  is  a  story  that  some  time  ago 
a  Moscow  jailer  was  discovered  to  be  in  the  habit  of  letting  out  a 
notorious  burglar  every  night,  on  condition  that  he  should  return 
before  morning  and  share  with  him  the  booty.  When  at  last  the 
burglar  was  caught,  the  secret  came  to  light.  The  turnkey  confessed 
his  fault,  but  threw  all  the  blame  upon  the  chief  jailer,  who,  he  said, 
received  the  lion's  share  of  the  spoils.  The  chief  jailer  also  confessed 
his  sin,  but  pleaded  that  the  police  took  from  him  almost  everything 
which  he  had  thus  gained.  Finally  the  affair  became  so  complicated 
that  the  following  laughable  result  was  reached.  The  burglar  was 
tried,  but  through  some  technicality  was  acquitted,  the  turnkey  was 
not  even  indicted,  while  the  jailer  was  simply  transferred  to  another 
prison. 

There  is  one  building  of  ominous  interest  in  Moscow,  whose 
towers  seem  to  have  the  cruel  sharpness  of  a  pair  of  tusks.  It  is  the 
Moscow  Tribunal.  When  a  man  is  brought  here  for  a  real  or  sup- 
posed political  offence,  there  are  two  modes  of  dealing  with  him. 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


167 


He  may  be  tried  before  a  regular  tribunal,  or  put,  as  it  is  called, 
"under  inspection."  In  the  former  case,  if  convicted,  he  will  be 
condemned  to  prison  or 
be  transported  to  Siberia. 
If  put  "  under  inspec- 
tion," he  is  removed  with- 
out any  trial  to  some 
distant  part  of  Eussia, 
where  he  is  compelled 
to  live  under  the  strict 
surveillance  of  the  police. 
This  is  the  usual  mode  of 
dealing  with  a  person 
supposed  to  be  dangerous, 
although  no  sufficient 
proof  of  treason  can  be 
found  to  actually  condemn 
him.  After  spending  four, 
six,  and  perhaps  ten  years 
under  police  supervision 
near  the  White  Sea  or  the 
Ural  Mountains,  the  sus- 
pected man,  if  he  has  be- 
haved quietly,  is  usually 

informed,  without  any  explanation,  that  he  may  go  to  live  anywhere 
except  in  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow !  Is  it  strange  that  there  is 
discontent  in  a  country  like  this  ? 

As  for  the  chance  of  obtaining  justice,  even  when  a  trial  is  per- 
mitted, sad  stories  are  told  of  Eussian  judges,  which  do  not  tend  to 
increase  one's  confidence  in  them.  It  is  commonly  said  that  a 
Eussian  judge  can  always  be  bribed  to  acquit,  unless  the  other  side 
has  already  induced  him  to  convict ;  and  even  then  he  can  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  pass  a  mild  sentence,  unless  the  other  side  has  already 
hired  him  to  pronounce  a  severe  one.  However  this  may  be,  one  of 
the  most  amazing  things  which  I  heard  in  Eussia  was  the  remark  of 


'THE    TRIBUNAL. 


168 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


a  nobleman,  with  whom  I  travelled  from  St.  Petersburg  to  Moscow. 
I  had  asked  him,  "  To  which  side  do  the  sympathies  of  the  judges 
naturally  incline  when  you  noblemen  have  a  lawsuit  with  the  peas- 
antry ? "  His  reply  was  so  extraordinary  that  I  desire  to  give  it  in 
his  exact  words.  It  was  this,  "  Quand  on  a  de  1'argent,  il  est  facile 
de  faire  tout  ce  que  Ton  veut  avec  les  juges  "  (When  one  has  money 
it  is  easy  to  do  anything  one  wishes  with  the  judges).  This  was  told 
me  by  a  Russian  nobleman,  whose  brother  was  in  the  private  suite  of 
the  Czar. 

Not  far  from  my  hotel  in  Moscow  was  a  fantastically  colored 
structure,  known  as  the  "  Eed  Gate."  In  point  of  beauty  it  would 
be  a  blessing  to  the  city  if  either  the  Nihilists  or  the  thunderbolts  of 
heaven  were  to  destroy  it  at  once.  And  yet  it  was  erected  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  years  ago  by  the  merchants  of  Moscow,  in  honor  of 
the  coronation  of  the  daughter  of  Peter  the  Great.  Surely  here  was 
an  occasion  for  a  nobler  arch  than  this.  For  the  green  and  red  colors 
of  its  stucco  covering  are  faded  like  a  calico  curtain;  its  cheap  stat- 
ues look  like  mammoth  Punch  and  Judy  figures ;  and  its  plaster 

coating  has  been  broken 
off  in  so  many  places 
that  the  whole  portal 
looks  as  if  pitted  with 
the  small-pox. 

But  scarcely  have  we 
left  this  gateway  before 
we  discern  in  the  distance 
another  arch  of  triumph 
which  at  first  commands 
our  admiration.  For  al- 
though we  have  not  quite 
forgotten  the  stucco  of 
St.  Petersburg,  yet  we 
cannot  believe  that  an 

arch  of  these  proportions,  which  bears  the  proud  name  of  Alexander 
I.,  and  which  was  erected  to  commemorate  the  expulsion  of  the 


THE    RED    GATE. 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


169 


French  from  Eussia,  can  be  anything  but  genuine.  But,  alas !  on 
close  examination  we  find  that  this  also  is  covered  with  the  detestable 
Eussian  plaster,  which  is  now  peeling  off  in  sections;  while  the 
horses,  the  car  itself,  and  the  statue  of  Victory  above  are  all  of  cast- 
iron,  not  of  bronze !  This  is  the  more  sad  when  we  remember,  — 
what  we  discovered  in  St.  Petersburg  and  shall  also  see  exemplified 
in  Moscow,  —  that  when  Eussia  really  puts  forth  the  effort,  she  can 
and  does  surpass  the  modern  world  in  the  solidity  and  splendor  of 
her  temples  and  columns ; 
for  the  treasures  of  her 
quarries  are  exhaustless 
and  the  skill  of  her  lap- 
idaries unexcelled. 

Of  this  I  was  never 
more  thoroughly  con- 
vinced than  when,  after 
passing  these  unworthy 
arches,  I  approached  the 
famous  "Church  of  the 
Saviour,"  an  edifice  the 
splendor  of  which  is  des- 
tined to  outshine  that  of 
almost  any  other  temple 
in  the  world.  It  was 
commenced  in  1813,  and 

was  designed  to  commemorate  the  defeat  of  the  French.  It  is  a 
most  imposing  structure,  visible  from  every  quarter  of  the  city,  and 
combining  majesty  of  proportion  with  elegance  of  decoration.  The 
stone  is  of  a  delicate  cream  color,  the  beauty  of  which  is  enhanced  by 
the  azure  of  the  Eussian  sky  against  which  it  stands  relieved.  It 
is  of  course  in  the  form  of  the  Greek  cross,  and  all  its  domes  gleam 
like  the  sun  in  gilded  splendor ;  while  around  the  walls  extends  a 
long  frieze  of  life-size  figures.  Yet,  beautiful  as  it  thus  appears,  its 
exterior  is  only  a  faint  hint  of  the  treasures  which  its  walls  enclose. 
These  of  themselves  would  repay  a  special  journey  to  Eussia.  The 


THE   ARCH   OF  VICTORY. 


170 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


floor  is  of  checkered  marble,  and  the  walls  are  covered  with  beautiful 
expanses  of  Siberian  jasper,  porphyry,  malachite  and  alabaster,  all 


THE    CHURCH   OF   THE    SAVIOUR. 


polished  to  the  highest  degree,  cut  in  a  great  variety  of  forms,  and 
gleaming  like  the  surface  of  a  mirror.  Here  and  there  these  splen- 
did ornaments  are  interspersed  with  life-size  or  colossal  mosaic  por- 
traits or  pictures,  frequently  incrusted  with  jewels,  —  while  the 
mighty  dome  itself  is  filled  with  a  wonderful  and  awe-inspiring 
painting  of  the  Trinity.  I  saw  this  cathedral  under  the  disadvan- 
tage of  its  being  partially  filled  with  scaffoldings  and  workmen ;  but 
I  came  forth  from  it  convinced  that,  when  completed,  this  will  be 


CITIES   OF   THE    CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  171 

the  second,  if  not  the  first,  cathedral  in  the  world,  for  splendor. 
I  do  not  dare  to  hazard  an  estimate  of  its  entire  cost,  and  I  have 
found  none  that  I  can  accept  with  confidence.  Let  me  only  remark, 
as  an  example,  that  one  comparatively  small  section  of  Siberian 
jasper,  inserted  like  a  medallion  in  a  marble  wall,  cost  no  less  than 
$15,000. 

Moreover,  it  should  be  remembered  that  this  is  the  second  great 
cathedral  which  Eussia  has  built  during  the  last  seventy  years ;  the 
famous  one  of  St.  Isaac's,  in  St.  Petersburg,  having  been  begun  in 
1819,  and  completed  in  1858,  after  an  expenditure  of  about  twenty 
million  dollars.  A  third  cathedral,  nearly  as  large,  is  also  in  process 
of  construction  at  Nijni  Novgorod.  Marvellously  beautiful  is  this 
Church  of  the  Saviour,  in  the  long  fascinating  Northern  twilight 
which  makes  the  Eussian  summer  so  attractive. 

"  Oh  the  splendor  of  the  city 

When  the  sun  is  in  the  west ! 
Ruddy  gold  on  spire  and  belfry, 

Gold  on  Moskwa's  placid  breast  ; 
Till  the  twilight,  soft  and  sombre, 

Falls  on  wall  and  street  and  square, 
And  the  domes  and  towers  in  shadow 

Stand  like  silent  monks  at  prayer." 

Eussia  is,  outwardly  at  least,  one  of  the  most  religious  countries 
on  the  globe.  In  my  walks  through  Moscow  I  repeatedly  passed 
a  gate,  where  at  almost  every  hour  of  the  day  is  gathered  a  crowd  of 
kneeling  worshippers.  For  here  is  a  miraculous  picture,  called  the 
Iberian  Mother  of  God.  It  seems  hardly  credible,  but  I  have  it  on  the 
best  authority,  that  the  priests  of  this  chapel  receive  in  donations  no 
less  than  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year !  Every  Orthodox  Eussian,  as 
he  passes  this  chapel,  takes  off  his  hat  and  crosses  himself;  and  even 
the  Czar  himself,  whenever  he  visits  Moscow,  always  dismounts 
and  prays  before  this  image  of  the  Virgin.  When  Napoleon,  in 
1812,  was  advancing  upon  Moscow,  the  populace  clamorously 
called  upon  their  bishops  to  take  the  Madonna,  and  under  her 
protection  lead  them  out  armed  with  hatchets  against  the  hosts  of 
the  infidel. 


172  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

One  morning,  as  I  was  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  Church  of  the 
Assumption,  I  noticed  coining  rapidly  along  the  street  a  handsome 
coach  drawn  by  four  horses.  The  coachman's  head  was  bare,  and 
all  the  people  in  the  streets  took  off  their  hats  and  crossed  them- 
selves as  it  passed.  Much  to  my  astonishment,  I  was  told  that  this 
was  the  carriage  of  the  Iberian  Madonna.  Fortunately  for  me,  it 
stopped  before  a  neighboring  house,  and  two  priests  took  from  the 
carriage  the  sacred  painting  of  the  Madonna,  and  bore  it  reverently 
into  the  dwelling.  Two  female  servants  on  the  doorsteps  kneeled  as 
they  passed,  so  that  the  sacred  image  might  be  carried  over  their 
heads.  Like  the  Holy  Bambino  at  Rome,  it  was  being  taken  to  heal 
the  sick.  I  did  not  wait  until  it  was  brought  forth  again,  but  asked 
my  guide  a  question  that  perplexed  me.  If  this  same  image  could 
thus  be  taken  around  the  city  on  professional  visits,  how  was  it  that 
the  persons  who  meantime  assembled  to  pray  at  the  chapel  did  not 
get  impatient  at  its  absence  ?  "  That  is  very  simple,"  replied  the 
guide;  "there  is  a  copy  of  this  picture  which  takes  its  place  in 
the  chapel  when  the  real  one  is  called  away,  and  thus  neither  the 
devotions  nor  the  donations  of  the  faithful  suffer  interruption ;  for 
no  worshipper  can  tell  the  difference  between  the  genuine  and  the 
copy."  How  simple  seem  the  tricks  of  trade  after  they  are  ex- 
plained ! 

As  might  be  expected,  the  theological  knowledge  of  the  Russian 
peasant  is  exceedingly  limited,  notwithstanding  his  implicit  faith 
in  religious  rites  and  sacred  pictures.  An  oft  repeated  story  illus- 
trates this.  It  is  said  that  a  Moujik  was  once  asked  by  a  priest  if  he 
could  name  the  three  persons  in  the  Trinity.  "Certainly,"  was  the 
answer ;  "  every  one  knows  that.  They  are  the  Saviour,  the  Mother 
of  God,  and  St.  Nicholas,  the  miracle-worker ! "  Yet  this  is  not  so 
bad  as  the  reply  of  the  English  university  student,  cited  by  George 
Eliot,  who,  when  requested  to  state  what  he  knew  about  Moses, 
answered,  "Moses  said  to  the  whale,  when  it  had  cast  him  forth 
upon  the  land,  '  Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian ' "  ! 

One  of  the  most  picturesque  and  Oriental  of  all  the  shrines  of 
Moscow  is  the  Church  of  the  Nativity,  whose  bulbous  domes  and 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


173 


pretty  belfries  rise  as  usual  from  an  environment  of  low-roofed 
shops  and  dwellings.  In  this  church  especially,  as  well  as  in  many 
others  of  Moscow,  there 
occurs  on  Easter  morning 
a  ceremony  which  I  re- 
gretted being  too  late  in 
the  season  to  witness. 
The  assembled  worship- 
pers have  then  the  privi- 
lege of  saluting  each 
other  with  a  kiss,  and  of 
course  all  the  "  old  bach- 
elors "  go  to  church  that 
day,  if  never  at  any 
other  time.  The  theory 
is,  that  all  the  Christians 
ought  to  embrace  each 
other,  to  show  that  they 
are  brethren  in  Christ. 
When  two  friends,  for 
example,  meet  during  that 
night  or  on  Easter  morn- 
ing, one  says,  "Christ 

hath  arisen;"  the  other  replies,  "In  truth  He  hath  arisen;"  and 
then,  in  a  paroxysm  of  joy  over  the  good  news,  they  kiss  each 
other  three  times  on  the  right  and  left  cheek  alternately.  More- 
over, this  outburst  of  affection  is  frequently  followed  by  the  remark, 
"  Come,  brother,  let  us  drink  together !  "  and  to  the  public  house 
they  go,  where  brandy  flows  as  freely  as  the  water  of  the  liberated 
Neva. 

Curious  stories  are  told  of  this  Eussian  custom.  On  coming 
out  of  his  cabinet  one  Easter  morning,  the  Czar  Nicholas  spoke  to 
the  guard  at  his  door  the  ordinary  words  of  salutation,  "Christ 
hath  arisen."  Instead,  however,  of  the  usual  reply,  the  Czar 
received  the  flat  contradiction,  "No,  he  has  not,  your  Imperial 


THE    CHURCH   OP  THE   NATIVITY. 


174  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

Majesty."  Astounded  by  such  an  unexpected  answer  (for  no  one 
ever  ventured  to  dissent  from  the  Czar,  even  in  the  most  respect- 
ful terms),  he  instantly  demanded  an  explanation.  The  soldier 
then  admitted  that  lie  was  a  Jew,  and  could  not  conscientiously 
acknowledge  the  fact  of  the  resurrection.  This  boldness  for  con- 
science' sake  so  pleased  the  Czar  that  he  gave  the  man  a  hand- 
some Easter  present. 

In  some  respects  Moscow  is  not  an  ideal  city  for  the  traveller. 
With  all  its  picturesque,  historical  and  interesting  objects,  in  point 
of  cleanliness  it  is  still  open  to  improvement.  But  cleanliness  is  to 
the  tourist  of  more  practical  importance  even  than  godliness,  and  I 
regret  to  say  that  I  obtained  that  blessing  less  easily  in  Russia  than 
in  Turkey,  Asia  Minor,  Greece,  Syria,  Spain,  or  any  other  land  which 
it  was  ever  my  fortune  to  visit. 

The  "Slavianski  Bazar"  is  the  name  of  that  hotel  in  Moscow 
which  Murray  recommends  as  the  best.  I  freely  admit  that  it  pos- 
sesses some  qualities  which  entitle  it  to  praise,  and  it  probably  is  the 
best  hotel  in  the  city.  But  the  fact  remains  that  what  is  good  for 
Russia  may  be  abominable  for  other  parts  of  the  world.  Neatness  is 
still  rare  in  Russian  hotels,  even  in  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow; 
while  the  filth  and  discomfort  of  hotels  in  smaller  towns  are  inde- 
scribable. 

We  had  fine  rooms  in  the  "  Slavianski,"  so  far  as  furniture  was 
concerned,  and  after  a  fatiguing  day  of  sight-seeing,  we  commended 
ourselves  to  the  care  of  the  Iberian  Madonna  and  lay  down  (as  we 
fondly  hoped)  to  rest. 

It  was  midnight,  and  "deep  sleep  had  fallen  upon  the  earth." 
The  sun  had  as  usual  stepped  for  a  few  moments  only  behind  the 
curtains  of  the  night,  but  was  already  peeping  forth,  impatient  of 
even  an  hour's  retirement.  In  appearance,  the  lodgers  in  the  Slavi- 
anski Bazar  were  all  peacefully  sleeping.  But  what  is  this  ?  There 
are  sounds  of  hurrying  feet,  shrill  exclamations  of  disgust,  and  words 
which  would  befit  an  argument  upon  eternal  punishment.  The  light 
of  candles  breaks  upon  the  gloom,  and  lo !  upon  the  snowy  coverings 
of  the  beds,  and  on  the  walls,  the  curtains  and  the  robcs-de-nuit 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  175 

are  seen  a  swarming  host  of  —  but  no,  I  will  not  mention  them. 
From  another  such  sight  may  I  be  ever  spared  !  In  fact,  the  rooms 
were  full  of  that  particular  kind  of  vermin  the  end  and  aim  of  whose 
existence  seems  to  be  to  dispute  with  man  the  possession  of  a  com- 
fortable bed.  So  well  had  these  creatures  obeyed  the  divine  injunc- 
tion, "  Be  ye  fruitful  and  multiply,"  that  they  were  found  next 
morning  playing  hide  and  seek  upon  our  coats  and  shawls.  Three 
also  were  discovered  by  chance  luxuriating  in  a  tooth  mug,  and  seven 
uiiburied  ones  lay  in  the  soap  dish,  sleeping  the  sleep  that  knows 
no  waking! 

Next  morning,  I  conversed  with  the  proprietor  on  the  siibject  of 
Eussian  hunting  by  candle-light,  animated  by  that  warmth  of  feeling 
naturally  inspired  by  a  night  spent  either  in  the  chase  or  hanging 
over  the  back  of  a  chair.  From  him  I  gained  the  following  infor- 
mation, which  further  experience  abundantly  confirmed. 

" My  dear  sir,"  said  the  innkeeper,  "it  is  a  sad  fact  that  in  all 
Eussian  hotels  you  will  have  abundant  occupation  in  the  art  of  self- 
defence.  In  winter  it  is  worse  than  in  summer.  The  Eussiaus  who 
come  here  (you  see  I  am  French)  from  the  extreme  east,  south  and 
north,  are  not  over  cleanly.  Many  of  them  do  not  remove  their 
clothes  when  they  go  to  bed.  Most  of  them  play  the  part  of  pasture- 
grounds  to  many  parasites,  and  thus  the  mattresses,  the  walls,  the 
paper,  and  the  canopies  become  veritable  zoological  hanging-gardens." 
Anxious  to  know  the  truth  from  the  proprietor's  own  lips,  I  asked 
him,  "Are  these  insects  which  you  allude  to  fleas,  or  are  they  — 
but  no,  I  will  not  mention  them."  "Sir,"  replied  the  Frenchman 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  they  are  both ;  and  in  winter  there 
is  added  still  another  kind ; "  and  bending  toward  my  ear,  he  whis- 
pered a  word  whose  English  name  rhymes  perfectly  with — mice! 
Since  then  I  have  never  been  able  to  think  of  some  Eussian  hotels 
without  feeling  inclined  to  dance  the  Highland  Fling. 

In  walking  through  the  Muscovite  capital,  one  frequently  finds 
himself  beside  the  river  Moskwa,  which  gives  its  name  to  the  city 
through  which  it  flows.  Were  we  able  to  raise  ourselves  some  hun- 
dreds of  feet  above  this  river,  we  should  see  that  the  city  lies  in  the 


176  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

form  of  two  circles,  one  within  the  other.  Both  are  surrounded  by 
walls  of  fortification,  and  both  represent  successive  periods  of  Mos- 
cow's growth.  Through  the  outer  circle  we  have  already  ridden. 


THE   KREMLIN. 


But  now  we  are  to  approach  the  inner  core  of  the  Czar's  capital, 
the  very  heart  of  this  strange  city,  the  far-famed  Kremlin  of  Moscow. 
Originally,  this  Kremlin,  like  the  Acropolis  of  Athens,  was  sur- 
rounded by  stout  walls  of  oak,  and. in  the  centre  of  this  strong  en- 
closure lived  the  Czar,  surrounded  by  his  relatives  and  nobles. 
More  than  five  hundred  years  ago,  however,  the  wooden  walls  gave 
place  to  stone  ones,  in  order  that  the  Tartars  might  be  more  suc- 
cessfully resisted.  Again  and  again,  under  successive  shocks  of  war, 
have  these  old  ramparts  been  injured  and  rebuilt ;  but  in  form  they 
have  always  remained  substantially  the  same,  down  to  the  present 
time.  Within  are  the  lofty  spires  and  gilded  domes  of  the  most 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


Ill 


sacred  temples  of  Eussia,  and  the  Imperial  Palace  of  the  Czars.  The 
effect  of  all  this  is  wonderfully  enhanced  by  the  vivid  colors  of  roofs, 
cupolas,  walls  and  spires,  which  form,  in  a  glittering  expanse  of  red, 
white,  green,  gold  and  silver,  a  veritable  constellation  of  splendor  ! 
Fortunately,  much  of  the  Kremlin  was  unharmed  by  the  conflagra- 
tion of  1812 ;  for  the  devouring  element  did  little  save  to  lick  these 
battlements  with  its  tongues  of  flame.  I  had  always  imagined  this 
great  Muscovite  citadel  blackened  by  tune,  or  at  least  clothed  in  those 
sombre  tints  which  seem  the  fitting  garb  of  venerable  monuments. 
Here,  however,  I  was  pleasantly  disappointed.  The  Eussians,  like  the 
people  of  almost  every 
new  nation,  love  what  is 
modern  or  appears  so,  and 
therefore  they  renew  the 
colors  of  the  Kremlin  as 
often  as  they  fade  under 
the  keen  breath  of  the 
frosty  North.  Let  us  pass 
rapidly  beneath  the 
Kremlin's  deeply  tinted 
battlements,  towards  a 
lofty  tower  through  which 
we  shall  make  our  entry 
thither.  We  first  find 
ourselves  in  an  open 
square  outside  the  walls, 
where  a  group  of  bronze 
statuary  attracts  our  no- 
tice. It  represents  a 
peasant  appealing  to  a 

Eussian  general  to  save  the  beloved  Kremlin,  and  to  lead  the  armies 
of  Eussia  against  the  advancing  hosts  of  France.  It  is  a  strikingly 
suggestive  group,  for  the  peasant  points  eagerly  upward  to  the  towers 
of  the  Kremlin  but  a  few  paces  distant. 

Beyond  these  figures  on  the  right,  we  see  rising  to  a  lofty  height 

12 


THE   APPKOACH  TO  THE   KREMLIN. 


178 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


the  tower  of  the  "  Redeemer  Gate,"  the  most  sacred  of  the  five  portals 
which  pierce  the  Kremlin  walls.     Over  this  gateway  is  a  picture  of 
Christ,  which  is  deemed  so  sacred  that  no  one  is  allowed  to  pass 
beneath   it   without   removing   his    hat. 
Even  the  Emperor  himself  does  not  fail 

to  conform  to  this  custom,  whenever  he 

i 

rides  into  his  Kremlin  palace.      I  have 
frequently  stood   here   half  an  hour   at 
a  time,  watching  the  motley  throng  of 
passing  Russians ;  but  whether  the  trav- 
ellers were  on  foot,  in 
droschkies,  or  on  horse- 
back, they  never  failed 


to  uncover  their  heads 
as  they  crossed  its  thresh- 
old. 

Whenever  we  our- 
selves passed  through 
this  portal,  our  guide 
would  always  turn 
around  to  us  and  give 
us  the  solemn  warning, 

"  Hats  off,  Gentlemen ! "     Formerly  indeed,  an  omission  to  take  off 
the  hat  here  was  severely  punished ;  and  even  now  it  would  not  be 


THE   CONVENT   OF   THE   ASCENSION. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.— MOSCOW.  179 

at  all  advisable  to  refuse  to  comply  with  the  custom.  The  true 
traveller,  however,  is  always  cosmopolitan  enough  to  obligingly 
remove  his  shoes  at  the  door  of  a  Turkish  mosque,  or  his  hat  at  a 
"Eedeemer  Gate." 

This  gate  is,  however,  a  deep  one,  owing  to  the  thickness  of  its 
tower,  and  hence  it  is  with  the  assurance  of  an  acquired  cold  in  the 
head  that  we  put  on  our  hats  again  on  the  other  side.  We  are  now 
fairly  within  the  Kremlin  enclosure  and  look  eagerly  about  us  at  its 
numerous  buildings.  Here,  close  by  the  sacred  gate,  is  the  Convent 
of  the  Ascension,  the  walls  of  which  are  tinted  blue,  while  the  dome 
has  the  color  of  silver.  This  has  been  a  favorite  place  of  resort  for 
princesses  or  the  daughters  of  Russian  nobles,  who  have  wished  to 
retire  from  the  excitements  of  the  world  to  the  tranquil  life  of  the 
cloister.  In  its  crypt  are  the  tombs  of  many  Russian  empresses, 
one  of  them  being  that  of  the  first  wife  of  Peter  the  Great,  who  died 
there  in  solitude,  after  having  been  forced  to  take  the  veil.  Some 
years  before,  Peter  had  suspected  her  of  conspiring  against  him,  and 
accordingly  gave  her  the  awful  punishment  of  the  knout,  and 
banished  her  to  this  cloister  forever.  Hundreds  of  her  suspected 
associate-conspirators  were  put  to  death,  Peter  himself  occasionally 
taking  a  hand  in  their  execution.  One  day,  indeed,  with  a  wine- 
glass in  one  hand  and  an  axe  in  the  other,  he  is  said  to  have  cut  off 
twenty  heads  within  an  hour,  —  one  every  three  minutes,  and  after 
a  bumper  of  wine. 

In  one  prominent  building  in  the  Kremlin  enclosure  were  shown 
to  us  some  silver  kettles  and  golden  vases,  which  are  of  the  utmost 
sanctity,  —  for  they  contain  the  holy  oil  with  which  all  children 
in  Russia  must  be  baptized,  or  be  damned.  The  priests  of  the  Greek 
church  occupy  four  weeks  of  the  year  in  manufacturing  this  oil,  and 
then  send  it  all  over  the  empire  to  the  different  churches.  The  soul 
of  this  mixture  is  a  homoeopathic  dose  (of,  I  should  think,  the  two- 
millionth  potency)  extracted  from  the  oil-flask  said  to  have  been 
used  by  Mary  Magdalene,  when  she  washed  the  feet  of  Jesus.  I 
tried  to  find  out  how  Russia  obtained  this  oil-flask  of  Mary,  but 
was  unsuccessful.  It  was  a  prominent  bishop  of  Moscow  who  in 


180 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


priestly  robes  displayed  to  us  these  oil-jars ;  and  so  sacred  a  person 
is  this  priest,  that  it  is  customary  for  every  one  at  parting  to  rev- 
erently kiss  his  hand.  I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind  to  do  this, 
but  I  confess,  when  I  saw  what  kind  of  a  hand  he  had,  —  I  passed  ! 
A  French  gentleman,  however,  who  was  my  travelling  companion 
in  Eussia,  slipped  into  this  palm  of  doubtful  complexion  a  rouble, 
which  is  equal  to  about  eighty  cents.  I  was  shocked.  I  could  not 
believe  that  so  high  an  ecclesiastic  would  receive  so  small  a  fee. 
But,  on  the  contrary,  his  fingers  clutched  it  with  the  grip  of  Judas, 

and  his  face  relaxed  into 
an  oleaginous  smile  which 
could  not  have  been  sur- 
passed if  his  features  had 
been  dipped  within  the 
sacred  kettle. 

But  leaving  now  this 
sacred  oil-factory,  a  few 
steps  further  bring  us  to 
another  of  the  Kremlin 
gates.  If  we  could  only 
push  aside  this  sentry-box, 
we  should  see  that  over 
the  entrance  is  suspended 
a  miraculous  picture  of 
St.  Nicholas,  which  is 
called  the  dread  of  per- 
jurers, and  the  comfort  of 
suffering  humanity.  For 
in  former  times  it  was 
the  custom  for  parties  in 
a  lawsuit  to  take  their 

oaths  before  this  venerated  picture,  and  if  any  one  swore  falsely 
under  such  circumstances,  he  was  immediately  struck  dumb  with 
lockjaw.  What  a  pity  that  this  image  has  now  lost  its  efficacy! 
Otherwise  we  might  occasionally  borrow  it  of  the  Russian  Govern- 


THE   ST.   NICHOLAS   GATE. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


181 


ment!     Think  how  useful  it  would  have  been  in  the  trial  of  our  Star 
Route  officials ! 

Let  me  tell  you  one 
other  circumstance  in  con- 
nection with  this  gate- 
way. By  the  order  of 
Napoleon,  the  French,  in 
abandoning  Moscow, 
sought  to  blow  it  up.  A 
miracle  is  reported  to  have 
then  occurred.  When  the 
gunpowder  exploded,  it 
caused  in  the  tower  only 
a  slight  crack,  which  ex- 
tended just  as  far  as  the 
frame  of  this  image. 
There,  however,  it  sud- 
denly stopped ;  leaving 
the  image,  its  glass  cover- 
ing, and  even  the  lamp 
burning  before  it,  all  un- 
injured! The  Czar  Alex- 
ander caused  an  inscrip- 
tion to  be  placed  over  the 

gate  to  commemorate  the  miracle,  and  those  who  do  not  believe  it 
may  go  to  Siberia. 

But  advancing  now  beyond  the  Nicholas  gate,  we  see  before  us 
one  of  the  most  prominent  of  all  the  Kremlin  structures,  — the  Ivan 
tower.  This  is  indeed  an  imposing  and  beautiful  monument,  for  its 
octagonal  walls  are  of  snowy  whiteness,  and  at  a  height  of  three 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet,  it  wears  a  crown  of  gold.  Built  in 
the  year  1600,  this  is  the  campanile,  or  bell-tower,  of  the  Kremlin. 
It  contains,  in  fact,  no  less  than  thirty-six  bells,  two  of  which  are 
of  silver,  while  the  largest  weighs  one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand 
pounds.  The  mellow,  sweet  vibrations  of  a  musical  bell  are  perhaps 


THE   IVAN   TOWER  AND   CATUEDKAL. 


182 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


among  the  most  agreeable  sounds  whose  waves  can  fall  upon  the 
human  ear.  There  are  those  who  prefer  them  to  all  other  kinds  of 
music.  Such  persons  should  come  to  Kussia  to  be  satisfied ;  for  in 
Russia  bells  are  regarded  as  a  sacred  instrument  of  worship,  and  so 
much  silver  and  gold  are  cast  in  their  molten  mass,  that  when  com- 
plete, they  send  forth  most  perfect  tones,  which  rise  and  fall  with 
a  majestic  harmony  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  or  ripple  out  in  soft 
and  tremulous  golden  and  silvery  notes  like  the  tones  of  a  bird. 

But  if  the  bells  within  this  tower  amaze  us,  what  shall  we  say 
when  we  approach  its  base,  and  survey  the  monster  mass  of  metal 
which  rests  upon  the  ground  ?  This  is  justly  called  the  "  King  of 
Bells,"  and  looks,  as  we  approach  it,  like  a  huge  bronze  tent,  for 
through  the  aperture  in  its  side  a  person  could  enter  without  lower- 
ing his  head.  Not  much  idea  is  ever  given  by  statistics,  but  let  me 


THE  "KING  OF  BELLS.' 


remind  you  that  the  thickness  of  the  metal  is  two  feet,  and  its  weight 
four  hundred  and  forty-four  thousand  pounds  !  Moreover,  within 
this  bell  forty  persons  can  assemble  at  one  time,  and  the  cavity  has 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  183 

been  used  as  a  chapel.  Owing  to  an  imperfection  in  the  casting 
(caused,  it  is  said,  by  jewels  and  other  treasures  having  been  thrown 
into  the  liquid  metal  by  the  ladies  of  Moscow),  a  piece,  which  of 
itself  weighs  eleven  tons,  was  broken  out  of  the  side,  and  thus  the 
bell  was  ruined.  Through  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  in  the  city's  his- 
tory, this  "  King  of  Bells "  has  therefore  remained  silent  since  its 
birth. 

But  leaving  the  huge  bell  of  Moscow,  let  us  stand  now  before 
the  most  sacred  edifice  of  the  Kremlin,  and  indeed  of  all  Eussia,  — 
the  Cathedral  of  the  Assumption.  It  is  severely  plain  in  its  ap- 
pearance, and  its  whitewashed  walls  give  no  hint  of  the  treasures 
within,  although  its  domes  gleam  as  usual  like  golden  helmets.  It 
is  within  this  cathedral  that  amid  the  most  imposing  ceremonies  all 
the  Czars  from  Ivan  the  Terrible  down  to  the  present  sovereign  have 
been  crowned.  To  speak  more  exactly,  however,  they  have  crowned 
themselves;  for  no  one  is  deemed  worthy  at  that  solemn  hour  to 
place  upon  the  Emperor's  brow  the  emblem  of  sovereignty  save  the 
Czar  himself.  There  we  beheld  the  very  platform  upon  which  they 
have  all  in  succession  stood. 

Four  gigantic  gilded  and  pictured  columns  support  the  five  great 
domes,  and  the  most  sacred  pictures  of  Eussia  line  the  walls  from 
pavement  to  cupola  like  a  sacred  tapestry  of  gold.  Let  me  mention 
one  of  these  pictures.  It  is  a  portrait  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  supposed 
to  have  been  painted  by  St.  Luke.  On  one  occasion  it  is  said  to 
have  scared  away  the  Tartars,  but  I  do  not  believe  the  Tartars  were 
so  good  judges  of  paintings.  At  all  events,  this  picture  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  golden  frame,  incrusted  with  jewels  to  the  value  of 
$225,000.  One  emerald  alone  is  worth  $50,000.  Yet  how  can  I 
give  you  an  idea  of  the  treasures  contained  in  the  whole  church? 
At  the  time  of  the  French  invasion,  although  all  the  more  precious 
articles  had  been  carried  away  by  the  Eussians,  the  soldiers  of 
Napoleon  obtained  here  no  less  than  five  tons  of  silver  and  five 
hundred  pounds  of  gold.  Upon  the  sacred  altar  of  this  church 
I  saw  an  imitation  of  Mt.  Sinai,  made  of  pure  gold.  There,  too,  is 
a  Bible  covered  with  precious  jewels,  a  present  from  the  mother 


184  RED-LETTER    1>AYS   ABROAD. 

of  Peter  the  Great.  This  is  probably  the  largest  Bible  in  the 
world.  At  all  events  it  ought  to  be,  for  it  requires  two  men  to  carry 
it,  weighing  as  it  does  more  than  one  hundred  pounds.  Further- 
more, there  are  shown  here,  enclosed  in  costly  caskets,  a  part  of 
Christ's  robe,  a  drop  of  John  the  Baptist's  blood,  a  nail  of  the  true 
cross,  the  skull  of  St.  John,  the  dried  tongue  of  Peter,  and  many 
other  relics,  precious  to  those  who  believe  in  them,  and  disgusting  to 
those  who  do  not 

One  interesting  thing  I  had  almost  forgotten.  Whenever  the 
Czar  visits  Moscow,  he  is  driven  directly  through  the  Redeemer 
Gate  to  this  cathedral  Entering,  he  approaches  a  silver  casket 
which  contains  the  body  of  St.  Philip,  a  former  bishop  of  Moscow. 
Through  a  small  hole  in  the  coffin-lid  the  withered  forehead  of  this 
dead  prelate  is  exposed  to  view,  and  upon  this  the  Czar  of  all  the 
Hussias  reverently  places  his  lips.  And  why  ?  Because  this  bishop, 
having  dared  more  than  three  hundred  years  ago  to  reprove  Ivan 
the  Terrible  for  his  brutal  cruelty,  was  dragged  from  the  altar  of 
this  cathedral,  driven  through  the  streets  with  brooms,  and  put  to 
death.  He  is  therefore  justly  regarded  as  a  martyr,  and  his  tomb 
has  become  a  sacred  shrine.  Sincerely  or  not,  therefore,  the  Czar 
deems  it  advisable  to  honor  the  murdered  prelate.  But  it  is  easier 
to  kiss  a  dead  bishop  than  to  be  reproved  by  a  living  one. 

Closely  adjoining  this  historic  church  is  the  magnificent  palace  of 
the  Czars.  This  structure,  beautiful  though  it  be,  presents  by  its 
modern  appearance  (for  most  of  it  is  only  thirty  years  old)  a  start- 
ling contrast  to  the  other  buildings  of  the  Kremlin,  on  which  the 
hand  of  Time  seems  to  have  rested  heavily. 

Between  the  ancient  and  the  modern  portions  of  this  building 
stands  the  antique  chapel  of  the  Czars,  whose  gilded  domes  have 
reflected  the  sun  for  many  centuries.  This  contains  an  image  of 
the  Virgin  before  which,  according  to  the  priests,  all  must  bow, 
or  incur  the  risk  of  eternal  damnation.  In  the  old  times,  when 
the  patriarchs  of  the  church  were  almost  equal  in  power  to  the 
Emperor,  it  was  the  custom,  after  the  installation  of  one  of  these 
prelates,  for  the  bishop  to  mount  a  donkey  at  the  door  of  this  church, 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


185 


and  ride  through  the  city,  while  the  Czar  himself  in  humility  walked 
before,  holding  the  bridle  like  a  groom!  Leading  up  to  this,  and 
also  to  the  old  palace, 
we  note  with  inter- 
est a  flight  of  steps 
called  the  "Ked 
Staircase."  It  is  here 
that  the  Czar  shows 
himself  to  the  peo- 
ple after  his  corona- 
tion in  the  Cathedral 
of  the  Assumption. 
This  is  to  Moscow 
what  the  "  Giants' 
Staircase  "  is  to  Ven- 
ice. Horrible  scenes 
of  cruelty  and  bloody 
vengeance  have  been 

perpetrated     on     its  KBEMLIN  PALACE. 

ruddy  steps  by  Ivan 

the  Terrible,  and  other  despotic  Czars ;  such  as  when  Ivan,  enraged 
at  a  letter  brought  him  by  an  innocent  messenger,  drove  his  iron- 
pointed  staff  directly  through  the  poor  man's  foot  into  the  top- 
most stair,  and  then  leaned  on  it  while  he  re-read  the  letter;  the 
wretched  messenger  meantime  remaining  motionless,  not  daring  even 
to  groan !  Yet  this  is  nothing  to  some  other  deeds  enacted  on 
these  steps,  of  whose  horrors  I  will  spare  you  the  description.  Let 
me  only  add,  that  it  was  by  this  staircase  too  that  Napoleon,  fol- 
lowed by  his  marshals,  ascended  to  take  possession  of  the  palace  of 
the  Kremlin. 

The  Muscovite  home  of  the  Kussian  Sovereign  is  in  some  respects 
superior  even  to  the  great  Winter  Palace  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  richly  adorned  structures  in  the  world.  The  material  of 
its  exterior  is  not  altogether  such  as  we  could  wish,  but  we  have  ceased 
to  be  surprised  at  this  in  Eussian  architecture,  and  observe  with 


186 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


satisfaction  that  at  least  its  creamy  color  is  still  fresh  and  beautiful. 
But  it  is  when  we  pass  within  this  Imperial  abode  that  we  realize  its 
regal  splendor,  especially  as  we  enter  the  famous  Hall  of  St.  George. 
The  figure  of  this  saint  mounted  on  a  white  horse  forms  now  a  part 
of  the  arms  of  the  Eussian  Empire,  as  well  as  of  the  city  of  Moscow. 
Moreover,  St.  George  has  long  been  popular  in  Russia,  owing  to  the 
power  which  he  is  supposed  to  wield  over  wolves  and  serpents,  and 
the  Russian  peasant  will  never  turn  his  cattle  out  to  graze  before  St. 
George's  day,  the  23d  of  April,  when  he  fancies  he  can  do  so  with 
security !  This  magnificent  hall  is  two  hundred  feet  long,  and  its 
elaborately  ornamented  ceiling  arches  fifty-eight  feet  above  the  pol- 


ST.    GEORGE  S   1IALL. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


187 


ished  marble  floor.     To  add  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene,  the  names 
of  individuals  and  regiments  decorated  with  the  order  of  St.  George 


ST.  ANDREW'S  HALL. 

(the  highest  military  order  in  the  land)  are  inscribed  on  the  walls  in 
letters  of  gold ;  the  capitals  of  the  columns  are  surmounted  by  stat- 
ues of  Victory  bearing  shields;  and  the  gorgeous  chandeliers  hold 
no  less  than  three  thousand  two  hundred  candles,  which,  when 
lighted,  flood  the  grand  apartment  with  a  radiance  rivaUing  that  of 

day. 

At  right  angles  with  the  Hall  of  St.  George,  is  another  magnificent 
apartment,  the  Hall  of  St.  Andrew.     Although  we  see  a  mere  section 


188  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

of  this,  in  reality  it  is  even  larger  than  the  hall  which  we  have  left. 
Twisted  pillars,  enriched  by  flowers  of  gold,  rise  on  all  sides,  while 
fourteen  lofty  mirrors  reflect  as  many  windows,  opening  out  on  the 
balconies  of  the  Kremlin.  The  inlaid  floor  is  wonderfully  designed ; 
every  kind  of  colored  wood  being  used  to  produce  most  intricate 
patterns  of  scroll  and  flower.  Its  walls  are  hung  in  light  pink  silk 
and  gold,  and  it  is  lighted  by  four  thousand  five  hundred  candles. 
Its  gorgeous  ceiling,  sparkling  with  gilding  and  heraldic  devices, 
glitters  sixty-eight  feet  above  us,  while  the  wall  which  we  are  facing 
forms  a  beautiful  expanse  of  marble,  golden  ornamentation,  and 
paintings.  On  the  right  and  left  of  the  doorway,  are  two  black 
velvet  stands,  on  which  are  placed  the  gold  and  silver  plate  of  the 
Imperial  family,  when  the  Czar  is  residing  here. 

Passing  between  these,  and  beneath  the  richly  decorated  portal, 
we  found  ourselves  before  the  throne  of  the  Czar.  It  is  a  seat  worthy 
of  an  Imperial  potentate.  Marble  steps  lead  up  to  its  lofty  canopy, 
which  fairly  blazes  with  gold  and  jewels,  and  is  surmounted  by  a 
glittering  crown ;  the  whole  being  relieved  against  a  wall  lined  with 
light  blue  silk.  Within  we  see  the  richly  gilded  chair  itself,  be- 
hind which  is  a  background  of  purple  velvet,  embroidered  with 
jewels,  gold  insignia,  and  the  double-headed  eagle  of  the  empire. 
Looking  at  it,  we  shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  power  which  its 
occupant  possesses.  For  from  this  throne  his  sceptre  extends  over 
one  hundred  millions  of  Jews,  Christians,  Mohammedans,  Bud- 
dhists and  Pagans;  and  his  will  is  law,  from  the  Chinese  wall  to 
the  German  frontier,  and  from  the  Polar  Sea  to  Mt.  Ararat  and  the 
Indus ! 

Moreover,  would  you  know  how  this  Czar  is  popularly  represented 
to  his  people  ?  In  the  catechism  taught  them  by  their  priests,  the 
Czar  is  addressed  as  "  our  God  on  earth,"  and  his  "  worship  "  is  com- 
manded on  penalty  of  eternal  torture  in  the  future  life.  To  disobey 
his  commands  or  the  mandates  of  his  minions  is  declared  to  be 
impiety  against  God. 

I  have  in  my  possession  the  translation  of  a  sermon  recently 
preached  by  the  metropolitan  bishop  of  Moscow,  the  highest  eccle- 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


189 


THE   THRONE    OF   THE    CZAR. 

siastic  in  this  the  holiest  city  of  the  Eussian  Empire.  In  this 
discourse  occur  the  following  words :  "  We  believe  that  our  most 
pious  Sovereign  is  inspired  by  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  in  every  act, 
for  the  good  of  his  people !  He  is  the  anointed  one  through  whom 
God  himself  governs  us  !  He  makes  laws  for  us,  and  we  receive  them 
as  the  gift  of  God !  His  will  decides  our  lot,  and  we  submit  to  it 
without  a  murmur ;  for  it  is  the  will  of  God  ! " 

Is   this   the   nineteenth   century,  when   the   head   of   the   Greek 


190 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


church  in  Moscow  can  thus  proclaim  the  infallibility  and  inspira- 
tion of  Alexander  II.  ?  But  there  is  something  even  more  astonish- 
ing than  this.  For  in  another  place  he  says :  "  We  believe  also 
that  all  the  officials  appointed  over  us  by  the  Czar  are  likewise 
guided  and  inspired  by  God  in  all  their  decisions  and  acts."  Think 
of  that !  Eussian  officials,  the  most  corrupt  and  unprincipled  body 
of  men  to  be  found  in  any  government  on  earth,  detested  and 
hated  by  all  intelligent  Russians,  even  by  those  who  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  Nihilists  and  who  love  and  pity  their  Czar,  —  Eussian 
officials,  including  the  monsters  of  cruelty  in  the  secret  police,  the 
greatest  cause  of  Eussia's  oppression  and  misery,  —  these  men,  whose 
infamous  reign  of  corruption  and  tyranny  must  and  will  be  broken, 
these  are  said  by  the  bishop  to  be  guided  and  inspired  by  the  Divine 


A   STAIRCASE   IN    TTIK    KREMLIN. 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  191 

Spirit!  What  wonder  that  the  Government  ordered  one  hundred 
and  twenty  thousand  copies  of  that  sermon  printed  and  distributed 
among  the  people?  Ah!  what  a  reward  that  bishop  must  have 
received ! 

As  I  was  ascending  one  of  the  magnificent  stairways  of  this  pal- 
ace, my  friend  recalled  to  me  a  story  which  we  had  read  in  the 
"Revue  de  Deux  Mondes,"  which  gives  an  illustration  of  these 
"infallible"  Czars  strangely  at  variance  with  the  idea  of  divine 
inspiration.  Many  years  ago,  this  palace  was  one  night  resounding 
with  the  merriment  of  a  public  ball.  During  those  hours  of  gayety, 
the  Czar,  Paul  I.,  noticed  a  young  officer,  named  Labanoff,  paying 
special  attention  to  a  young  French  actress  of  whom  he  was  madly 
jealous.  He  at  once  ordered  Labanoff  to  be  arrested  and  thrown 
into  prison.  Doubtless  he  only  intended  to  keep  him  there  a  few 
days,  but  somehow  (very  strangely  for  an  inspired  sovereign)  he 
forgot  him !  More  than  fifty  years  after,  Alexander  I.  ascended 
the  throne,  and  in  clemency  ordered  the  prisoners  in  a  certain  dun- 
geon to  be  released. 

In  one  subterranean  cell,  so  small  that  it  was  impossible  there  for 
any  one  to  stand  erect,  was  found  an  old  white-haired  man,  bent 
almost  double  and  unable  to  speak  intelligibly.  This  was  Labanoff ! 
All  these  years  had  passed ;  Czar  after  Czar  had  ascended  the  throne ; 
but  Labanoff  was  always  forgotten  !  When  taken  out,  he  could  not 
bear  the  light.  He  could  not  stand  erect.  Nor  could  he  take  more 
than  two  or  three  steps  before  he  would  automatically  turn,  as 
though  his  head  had  struck  against  the  wall.  He  died  a  few  days 
after  his  liberation.  Comment  on  such  absolute  and  infallible  power 
as  this  is  needless. 

The  most  interesting  apartments  in  the  Kremlin  palace  are  to  be 
found  in  the  ancient  portion  of  the  building.  For  there  we  seem 
to  enter  into  the  real  Eussian  life  of  the  old  Czars,  and  are  contin- 
ually reminded  of  the  time  when  Moscow  was  the  great  centre  of 
the  empire  rather  than  St.  Petersburg.  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
of  these  apartments  is  the  old  banqueting-room  of  the  Eussian  sov- 
ereigns. Around  a  column  in  the  centre  the  Imperial  plate  is 


192 


RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 


always  displayed  on  the  occasion  of  a  royal  feast ;  and  here,  after  his 
coronation  in  the  neighboring  cathedral,  the  Czar,  adorned  for  the 
first  time  with  all  the  Imperial  insignia,  dines  with  his  nobles,  —  not 

at  the  same  table,  how- 
ever, for  with  him  only 
crowned  heads  are  allowed 
to  sit.  On  the  wall  also 
is  a  little  balcony,  which, 
during  the  coronation  ban- 
quet, is  occupied  by  the 
members  of  the  Imperial 
family ;  for  even  their 
presence  at  the  Empe- 
ror's table  is  then  ex- 
cluded by  etiquette. 

Another  room  of  great 
historic  interest  in  this 
wing  of  the  palace  is 
the  ancient  bedroom  of 
the  Czars.  There  was  to 

me  a  horrible  fascination  in  looking  on  this  antique  couch  and 
thinking  of  the  men  who  once  had  slept  beneath  that  canopy. 
For  the  history  of  the  Czars  of  that  time  is  the  most  horrible 
and  revolting  that  I  know  of.  Indeed,  compared  to  Ivan  the 
Terrible,  Tiberius,  Caligula,  and  Nero  seem  innocent  and  peace- 
able. It  would  be  hard  to  find  another  such  record  of  atrocities 
as  his  on  any  page  of  history.  It  was  during  his  reign  that  the 
famous  Eussian  proverb  was  invented,  "  Near  to  the  Czar,  near  to 
death ! " 

It  was  he,  you  remember,  who  utterly  destroyed  one  of  his  own 
cities,  Novgorod,  containing  four  hundred  thousand  inhabitants. 
Having  been  enraged  at  it,  his  orders  to  his  soldiers  were,  "Burn, 
slay,  and  give  no  quarter  to  old  or  young."  In  consequence,  the 
streets  were  filled  with  blood,  and  sixty  thousand  persons  were 
slaughtered.  This  Ivan  would  walk  about  the  streets  of  Moscow 


THE   BANQUET   HALL. 


CITIES   OF   THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


193 


ordering  this  one  or  that  to  be  killed.  One  day  at  dinner  he  killed 
one  of  his  sons,  with  a  blow  from  his  iron  staff.  At  another  time 
he  had  five  hundred  of  his  nobles  tortured  and  thrown  into  cal- 
drons of  boiling  water. 

One  day  as  he  was  passing  through  this  palace,  the  idea  seized 
him  to  have  his  little  hump-backed  jester  sprinkled  with  boiling 
soup.  As  the  poor  creature  did  not  laugh  at  this  joke,  he  killed  him 


THE  ANCIENT   BEDROOM   OF   TUB    CZARS. 
V 

with  a  blow  of  his  knife.  Then  he  turned  and  cut  off  the  ear  of 
one  of  his  courtiers.  This  man  very  wisely  thanked  him  for  leaving 
him  the  other,  and  thus  saved  his  head.  One  instance  more,  and  I 

13 


194  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

will  mention  no  more  of  his  atrocities.  He  was  fiendish  enough  to 
punish  some  of  his  nobles  by  hanging  their  wives  and  leaving  them 
suspended  over  the  doors  of  their  homes  for  days,  so  that  they  must 
push  aside  their  corpses  to  go  in  and  out !  And  yet  this  man  pre- 
tended that  God  was  acting  through  him  in  these  deeds ;  and  actu- 
ally, after  some  of  his  most  horrible  crimes,  he  would  say  to  his 
quaking  subjects :  •''  I  ask  an  interest  in  your  prayers ! "  In  view 
of  these  and  countless  other  facts  connected  with  Ivan's  reign  of  fifty 
years,  I  was  startled  to  read  in  the  Hermitage  at  St.  Petersburg  the 
following  autograph  letter  of  the  Czar  Nicholas,  father  of  the  late 
Alexander :  "  The  Czar  Ivan  the  Fourth  was  severe  and  violent, 
which  gave  him  the  name  of  '  the  Terrible.'  He  was  however  just, 
brave  and  generous,  and  contributed  to  the  happiness  and  develop- 
ment of  his  country ! "  Signed,  "  Nicholas." 

It  may  be  that  this  throws  some  new  light  upon  the  character  of 
Ivan ;  but  it  likewise  explains  something  of  the  tyranny  of  the 
reign  of  Nicholas. 

The  right  wing  of  this  palace  is  called  the  Treasury,  and  con- 
tains such  a  marvellous  collection  of  historic  relics  and  mag- 
nificent souvenirs  of  conquest,  that  it  would  be  folly  for  me  to 
attempt  to  describe  them  in  detail.  Here  are  preserved  the  coro- 
nation dresses  of  many  of  the  Empresses,  and  the  jewels  and  insignia 
of  former  Czars.  From  its  connection  with  Asia,  Persia,  and  India, 
Kussia  has  always  had  unusual  opportunities  to  secure  a  multitude 
of  precious  objects ;  and  certainly,  with  the  exception  of  the  Sultan's 
Treasury  at  Constantinople,  I  have  never  seen  such  a  display  as 
this. 

As  we  walk  along,  we  see  at  every  turn  crowns  flashing  with 
resplendent  colors,  and  sceptres  radiating  waves  of  brilliancy.  If 
you  deem  this  extravagant,  remember  that  one  of  these  sceptres 
alone  contains  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  sixty-eight  diamonds 
and  three  hundred  and  sixty  rubies  !  A  throne  from  Persia  is  there, 
still  blazing  with  three  thousand  precious  stones;  and  here,  under  a 
protecting  canopy  of  velvet  and  gold  and  surrounded  by  jewels,  we 
see  the  double  throne  upon  which  sat  together,  as  sovereigns  of  Eus- 


CITIES   OF    THE    CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


195 


sia,  those  two  brothers  one  of  whom  was  destined  soon  to  rule  alone 
under  the  well-earned  title  of  Peter  the  Great. 

Here  also  we  observe  with   interest   the   elegant   canopy,  under 


THE   TREASURY. 


which  the  Czar  walks  in  solemn  procession  to  and  from  his  cor- 
onation. 

Here,  too,  is  a  chair  containing,  it  is  said,  a  piece  of  the  true  cross ; 
and  here,  in  striking  contrast  to  all  this  dazzling  wealth,  I  beheld 
the  simple  camp  bedstead,  once  occupied  by  Napoleon,  and  captured 
by  the  Eussians  during  the  fearful  retreat  of  the  French  across 
the  Beresina. 

Naturally  enough,  on  leaving  the  Kremlin,  which  is  at  once  the 


196 


RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 


THE    CHURCH   OF   ST.    BASIL. 


fortress  and  the  altar  of  this  city  of  the  Czar,  we  paid  a  visit  to  the 
neighboring  church  of  St.  Basil,  the  most  magnificent  of  ancient 
Russian  shrines. 

The  appearance  of  this  extraordinary  structure  is  familiar  to 
every  traveller,  long  before  he  actually  beholds  it,  for  it  is  always 
represented  in  pictures  as  a  characteristic  monument  of  Moscow,  and 
adorns  nearly  every  illustrated  geography.  As  we  survey  this  edi- 
fice, so  unlike  any  other  in  the  world,  we  naturally  ask,  "Who  was 
this  St.  Basil  who  has  been  thus  immortalized  ? "  He  was,  it  seems, 
a  popular  prophet  and  miracle-worker  three  centuries  ago.  This  was 
not  all,  however.  He  claimed,  as  his  distinctive  glory,  that  he  was 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  197 

"  idiotic  for  Christ's  sake,"  whatever  that  may  mean !  Ivan  the 
Terrible  erected  this  structure  over  the  grave  of  Basil  the  Imbecile ; 
and  in  it  were  also  placed  the  relics  of  another  weak-headed  saint, 
called  "John  the  Idiot."  In  plain  English,  therefore,  this  cele- 
brated church  was  erected  by  the  Eussian  Nero  over  the  graves  of 
two  idiots  !  I  assure  you,  I  am  not  jesting.  Idiocy  is  a  form  of 
religious  mendicancy  very  common  in  Eussia,  and  imbeciles  are 
treated  with  great  consideration.  Beggars  in  Moscow  even  now 
feign  idiocy,  and  go  barefooted  in  winter  about  the  city.  But  very 
few  of  these  are  saints.  In  the  crypt  of  this  church  are  kept  the 
heavy  chains  and  crosses  which  St.  Basil  wore  for  penance,  and  the 
iron  weights  worn  by  the  other  idiot.  Basil's  cap  was  carried  off  by 
the  French  in  1812,  and  the  inestimable  treasure  has  never  been 
recovered. 

As  for  the  edifice  itself,  it  is  a  wonderful  specimen  of  Byzan- 
tine architecture  and  is  unlike  anything  else  in  the  world.  Nor  is 
this  strange.  When  it  was  finished,  Ivan  the  Terrible  found  it  so 
beautiful  and  remarkable,  that  he  called  before  him  the  architect  and 
asked  him  if  he  could  ever  build  another  such  temple.  The  artist, 
hoping  doubtless  for  a  fresh  opportunity  to  display  his  skill,  proudly 
answered,  "  Yes."  "  That,  by  Heaven,  you  shall  never  do,"  cried 
Ivan,  and  caused  his  head  to  be  immediately  cut  off,  in  order  that 
this  church  might  forever  remain  without  a  rival.  Can  you  imagine 
a  jealousy  more  cruel  and  at  the  same  time  more  flattering  than 
this  ?  The  style  of  St.  Basil's  is  in  the  highest  degree  incoherent  and 
amazing,  yet  in  a  certain  sense  beautiful.  From  the  roof  rise  eleven 
towers  of  beautiful  form,  each  having  a  different  design,  and  crowned 
by  cupolas  resembling  the  turbans  of  Oriental  giants.  Beneath  each 
of  these,  within,  is  a  tiny  chapel,  from  which  we  looked  up  into  the 
roof,  as  from  the  bottom  of  a  well,  only  to  find  in  the  ceiling  a  huge 
mosaic  eye,  startling  us  by  the  vivid  scrutiny  with  which  it  seemed 
to  regard  us.  But  that  which  is  its  especial  glory,  and  causes  it  to 
seem  like  a  glittering  mirage,  or  a  mountain  in  fairyland,  is  the  fact 
that  the  whole  cathedral  glows,  from  its  base  to  the  summit  of  its 
bulbous  domes,  with  the  greatest  variety  of  colors,  which  nevertheless 


198  RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD. 

harmonize  admirably  and  produce  an  astonishing  effect.  Eed,  blue, 
green,  yellow,  white  and  purple,  all  of  these  are  strangely  blended 
here  in  one  picturesque  mass,  like  a  castle  made  of  prisms. 

I  admit  that  it  is  strange,  fantastic,  and  to  many  even  displeasing 
from  its  very  oddity ;  but  to  me  it  seemed  precisely  suited  to  the 
half-barbaric  Muscovite  capital,  and  I  surveyed  it  always  with  a 
singular  feeling  of  satisfaction. 

And  if  I  thus  admired  it  in  summer,  how  beautiful  must  it 
appear  in  the  winter  time !  For  then  the  golden  rays  of  the  sun 
not  only  gleam  upon  its  wealth  of  colors,  but  likewise  sparkle  on 
these  towers  with  their  silver  frosting,  the  windows  with  their  dia- 
mond pendants,  and  all  its  countless  ornaments  and  crosses,  set  in  a 
mass  of  glittering  crystals,  cut  by  the  unrivalled  lapidaries  of  the 
frosty  air. 

It  was  by  moonlight  on  a  summer  evening  that  we  went  forth 
from  our  hotel,  and  standing  near  St.  Basil's  church  took  a  farewell 
look  at  the  Kremlin.  Never  before  had  Moscow  seemed  to  me  such 
an  Oriental  city;  for  its  gilded  towers  sparkling  in  the  moonbeams 
recalled  the  Turkish  minarets  which  I  had  often  watched  thus  from 
the  Bosphorus.  I  thought  then  of  the  night  which  Napoleon  passed 
within  those  Kremlin  walls  —  apparently  a  conqueror,  but  really 
on  the  verge  of  a  sublime  catastrophe !  "  We  shall  see,"  he  had 
exclaimed  on  entering  the  Kremlin,  "  what  the  Eussians  will  do.  If 
they  refuse  to  treat  with  me,  our  winter-quarters  are  assured.  We 
shall  give  to  the  world  the  singular  spectacle  of  an  army  wintering 
in  an  enemy's  country.  In  the  springtime  will  come  mild  weather 
and  —  victory  ! "  Napoleon  believed  that  his  genius  had  foreseen 
everything.  It  had  indeed  foreseen  every  possibility,  save  one, 
— namely,  the  suicide  of  Moscow! 

As  the  exultant  French  entered  the  city  which  seemed  to  them 
the  goal  of  their  desires,  they  found  it  a  desert  without  food  or 
inhabitants.  Even  here  the  Russian  army  persisted  in  its  policy  of 
retreating  and  never  fighting;  for  well  it  knew  that  in  the  field  the 
Eagles  of  France  moved  only  to  victory. 

Its   population  of   three   hundred   thousand   had   fled,  and  only 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW. 


199 


THE   SUICIDE   OP   MOSCOW. 

some  liberated  convicts  and  abandoned  wretches  watched  the  tri- 
umphant entry  of  the  conqueror.  It  was  appalling.  The  French 
were  starving,  and  Moscow  was  empty!  But  this  was  only  the 
commen  cement. 

Scarcely  had  Napoleon  entered  the  Kremlin,  when  the  liberated 


200  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

convicts  began  their  work,  and  those  flames  burst  forth  whose  lurid 
after-glow  was  to  light  the  path  to  Waterloo  and  St.  Helena  ! 

There  was  something  sublime  in  this  act  of  the  Russians.  To 
thwart  the  otherwise  invincible  Napoleon,  they  gave  up  to  the  devour- 
ing element  their  ancient,  beautiful  and  holy  city,  although  it  was 
the  idol  of  every  Eussian  heart,  and  though  her  shrines  were  to  him 
the  holiest  in  the  world,  hallowed  by  seven  centuries  of  historical 
association  !  This  fearful  sea  of  flame  spoke,  therefore,  in  a  million 
fiery  tongues  of  the  grandest  sacrifice  ever  made  to  national  feeling. 

Starting  from  eleven  different  places,  the  conflagration  raged  for 
three  days  with  terrific  fierceness.  The  Russians  had  removed  all 
the  engines,  and  the  dismayed  French  could  do  almost  nothing  to 
check  it,  though  the  incendiaries  were  shot  down  like  dogs.  But 
what  words  can  describe  the  horror  of  that  scene  ?  Amid  the  glo- 
rious palaces  and  churches  resplendent  in  the  flames,  the  convicts 
and  abandoned  wretches  ran  like  vermin,  engaged  in  universal  pil- 
lage, and  covering  their  filthy  rags  with  furs  and  gems  and  costly 
robes.  What  the  fire  spared,  the  greedy  clutch  of  ravishers  de- 
stroyed ;  and  works  of  elegance  and  luxury  went  down  either  in 
the  awful  holocaust  or  in  the  vortex  of  remorseless  war.  No  less 
than  twenty  thousand  Russian  soldiers  who  had  been  left  in  the 
Moscow  hospitals  were  burned  to  death. 

What  wonder  that  Napoleon,  though  quartered  in  the  Kremlin, 
now  sought  to  make  peace  with  his  peculiar  foe  ?  But  now  the 
Russians  laughed,  and  Kutusoff,  their  leader,  answered :  "  I  have 
but  just  opened  the  campaign,  for  now  I  see  approaching  my  ally, 
WINTER!"  And  then  commenced  that  terrible  retreat  whose  hor- 
rors have  baffled  the  power  of  brush  and  pencil  to  portray.  All  the 
annals  of  war  furnish  no  parallel  to  the  story  of  that  march,  which 
has  been  forever  frozen  into  the  memory  of  man.  The  frost  and 
snow  made  frightful  havoc  with  the  host  which  in  the  most  awful 
scenes  of  carnage  had  never  blanched.  Such  was  their  agony  for 
food  that  officers  and  soldiers  alike  fought  for  the  carcasses  of  the 
horses  as  they  fell,  and  ate  them  raw. 

Freezing,  yet  struggling  to  the  last  against  the  eddying  snow  and 


CITIES   OF  THE   CZAR.  — MOSCOW.  201 

piercing  wind,  they  staggered  on,  till  one  after  another  fell  from  the 
ranks,  to  be  coffined  only  in  the  shroud  of  ice  woven  around  them 
by  the  pitiless  storm-king.  The  exact  extent  of  the  French  loss  is 
unknown,  but  a  Russian  account  states  that  when  the  icy  mantle  of 
the  Beresina  had  melted  hi  the  spring,  there  were  found  in  the  river 
alone  thirty-six  thousand  dead  bodies  !  They  were  the  last  ghastly 
remnant  of  the  one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  who  perished  on 
that  fearful  march,  from  cold,  hunger  and  fatigue ! 


NAPOLEON. 

'  Turn  back,  turn  back,  thou  fur-clad  Emperor, 
Thus  toward  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries 
Flying  with  breathless  speed.     Yon  meagre  forms, 
Yon  breathing  skeletons,  with  tattered  robes, 
And  bare  and  bleeding  feet,  and  matted  locks, 
Are  these  the  high  and  haughty  troops  of  France, 
The  buoyant  conscripts,  who  from  their  blest  homes 
Went  gayly  at  thy  bidding  ?     When  the  cry 
Of  weeping  Love  demands  her  cherished  ones, 
The  nursed  upon  her  breast,  —  the  idol-gods 
Of  her  deep  worship,  —  wilt  thou  coldly  point 
The  Beresina,  the  drear  hospital, 
The  frequent  snow-mound  on  the  unsheltered  march, 
Where  the  lost  soldier  sleeps  ?  " 


202  RED-LETTER   DAYS  ABROAD. 

I  know  not  how  it  is  with  other  visitors  to  Moscow,  but  for  me 
there  was  a  spectre  in  this  Kremlin !  A  face  there  was  that  gazed 
on  me  from  every  wall  and  waited  silently  for  me  at  every  gate ! 
A  sad  and  troubled  face,  whose  classic  features  seemed  cut  in  marble, 
so  livid  was  their  pallor,  and  in  whose  eyes  there  shone  a  momentary 
gleam  of  fear,  as  though  their  penetrating  glance  had  already  caught 
the  corning  obscuration  of  his  star  of  destiny.  It  was  the  face  of 
Napoleon,  vanquished  by  the  unconquerable  North,  and  turning 
from  the  flames  of  Moscow  to  commence  that  downward  path  which 
ended  only  in  the  lonely  grave  at  St.  Helena.  As  I  left  the  Kremlin, 
the  bells  in  the  Ivan  tower  were  sounding,  as  though  they  were  toll- 
ing Napoleon's  funeral  knell ! 


University  Press  :    John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


